Flesh & Machinery
by Visi0nary
Summary: Episode Seven of the Battlestar Galactica Virtual Season Three project. Paradigms seldom shift smoothly.
1. Prologue

**Flesh & Machinery**

**Virtual Season Three, Episode Seven**

**By Visi0nary**

* * *

**FROM THE ADAMA JOURNALS**

**

* * *

**"We are now a full sectan into the vast expanse of space that lies beyond that region dominated by the Zykonians and Ziklagi. Of course, I use the term "unknown" in a spirit of humor because our recent stopover at Space Station RB-33, which I am pleased we made despite my early misgivings, allowed us to acquire a great deal of information about this region.

Called the Bosaq Frontier, in reference to a political entity which once controlled it, it was described by our departed friend Ozko Bolzakian as a region that had descended into a "free for all." It's a term that demonstrates further the kindly alien's penchant for understatement.

Though the region contains a good number of habitable worlds, both peopled and empty, the peoples of which are predominantly hospitable, it is also rife with pirate activity and petty wars. According to the information gathered at the space station, adventurers and profiteers from both the Zykonian and Ziklagi nations, along with various others, gravitated to this region to escape the tight control of both those governments in much the same way some of our own people ventured into the Colonial Frontier to escape the ravages of the war with the Cylons. An unfortunate byproduct of this migration was the ascendancy of small groups of malcontents who chose to feed on the chaos wrought by the fall of the Bosaq Empire.

It's a story that is almost as old as man, and a disheartening one.

It's also no wonder that the reports of traveling merchants like the Horks paint the inhabitants of the free worlds of the region as largely xenophobic and inhospitable.

If genuine, those reports tell us that the majority of the peoples of the area have been fighting a near constant struggle with these pirates since the Bosaq Empire's demise some ten yahrens ago. While their success is a hopeful sign I am bothered by the idea of our fleet passing through this area. While the native peoples have the convenience of nearby planets and bases, we have only the ships that carry us, and though I have little reason to doubt that the military might of these pirates would be sufficient to do lasting harm to the _Galactica _or Baltar's BaseShip, the thought of these parasites preying on our patrols or the less well defended ships of the fleet terrifies me, especially in light of information that was brought to my attention just this morning.

A patrol of Raiders from the BaseShip operating on our rear flank reported picking up a vessel of unknown configuration on their scanners. When they moved to intercept the craft disappeared from their scanners in a manner consistent with a vessel equipped with Zykonian cloaking technology. It's this technology that makes any possible encounter with these renegades especially frightening. If they're able to use it in concert with a matter teleportation unit the same way the Ziklagoio did when they provided me with data on the Earth ship _Saint Brendan_ following our departure from Brylon Five, they could come aboard our ships or steal the cargo from our holds by stealth without ever making their presence known. Even more disconcerting is that some peoples in this region are known to engage in the slave trade. Though its within our ability to detect cloaked vessels, the terror and paranoia that could result if people were to start disappearing from the fleet, as well as the effect on morale when we weren't able to use our military resources to rescue them could very well bring about the destruction of what remains of our people.

"Free for all," indeed. It's almost enough to consider turning the fleet around, going back to RB-33 and plotting a new course.

Of course I know this is impossible - our only choice is to move forward.

Though Earth's exact location remains unknown, circumventing this region would add sectars, possibly a yahren, to our journey before we would be able to return to our Epsilon 22 heading in a region free of pirate activity. While I maintain optimistic that we'll brave this region no worse for wear in public, privately my only comfort in light of the news brought by the Cylon patrol is the knowledge that our brothers made this voyage successfully so long ago to reach Earth.

On that front, the presence of Captain Byrne, his daughter and now his comrade Commander Allen seems to have caused any remaining doubt about the existence of Earth to evaporate. Cycle after cycle our people are regaled by tales of our long-lost brother world. While I've asked both men to remain silent about the possibility that the planet could be threatened by a passing asteroid in the relatively near future, they've had no shortage of stories to tell. It fascinates the people, especially our younger population who have been accustomed to Battlestars and Vipers their entire lives, when they hear stories from the mouths of people whose current level of technology corresponds closely to our early sixth millennium – a period of time that was considered revolutionary, since it was when we began venturing beyond our own planetary system.

Now that I've taken time to "put these thoughts to paper, "as it were, I realize that with the time its taken to study the region and plot a course ahead, on top of my regular command duties and responsibilities as council president, that its been cycles since I had any spare time to be bothered by the budding relationship between the Captain and Siress Lydia or the unanswered questions surrounding the crew of our resident BaseShip or the motivations of its Commander. Indeed, I've reached the point where I have to actively try to remember how ironic it is to regularly communicate with, map out strategy with and give orders, though framed as polite suggestions or requests, to a man who is responsible for the destruction of our nation and the death of billions. I find that for the first time since the beginning of the détente I'm going to bed at night and waking up in the morning without dwelling on the idea that I've thrown all of my principles and morals out the airlock by allowing Baltar back into our ranks. It's even become routine, rather than disturbing, to hear the sound Cylon voices during communications between the _Galactica _and the Base Ship, as well as the recorded logs of integrated patrols.

As for Siress Lydia, I admit that her recent behavior has me befuddled. An opportunistic woman at the best of times, I remain of the mindset that she has a desire to challenge my authority at some future point. Recently, however, I've seen no signs that she's actively plotting in accordance with that goal; seeing her behavior when in the presence of the Earth astronaut a part of me wonders if she's not genuinely taken with him in a way that transcends the physical. Indeed, every indication is that the Captain is a good and honorable man. Could it be that his strength of character is effecting a change in the good Siress? My experience tells me that such things are impossible, and yet I wonder…

At any rate the Siress, in her capacity as Council Vice President, has been as good as her word in not revealing the Cylon encounter with the unknown vessel but also keeping confidence regarding the attempted murder of Lieutenant Sargamesh, the stockpile of deadly piiglin gas found aboard the _Galactica _and the subsequent arrest and suicide of Technician Aldebaran in connection with it.

Aldebaran...

Is it vanity that keeps me from forgetting that the unfortunate man referred to me and the council as "the demon and his eleven minions," or is it a new manifestation of the guilt that Ayesha told me was irrational when I agreed to Baltar's conditions for the détente?

I wear the cloak of not just a military Commander but also a bureautician. Balancing those two careers has never been an easy thing, and I've gotten used to being referred to by unflattering names in my time, but to be referred to as "the demon"; not just _a _demon but _the _demon, as though I were Iblis himself…

As much as it bothers me that this singular individual thought of me so poorly, I can't help but suspect that there are others who feel the same way. One man alone, especially a maintenance worker, could sabotage a Viper; one man alone could not have been responsible for acquiring, transporting and storing the piiglin gas. While officially our inquiry into the man's actions reached exactly that conclusion, we privately remain vigilant, expecting that Aldebaran's co-conspirators will reveal themselves at some future point.

I only hope that God grants me the strength to carry on until we reach that point."

Switching off the recorder, Adama leaned back in his chair and rubbed his eyes. It had taken more of an emotional toll to record those last few words than he'd expected. It was one thing for Aldebaran's words to echo through his mind day after day, moment after moment, but another thing to actually hear them come from his own mouth.

He could believe that some of his actions since the Destruction were unpopular with certain members of the populace, but had he truly been so much of a tyrant to be considered on the level with Iblis?

Shaking his head, he drove the thought from his mind. He wouldn't allow himself to be crippled as the Commander or as the President because of the fanaticism of one man - or one hundred men.

His desktop chronometer told him that the time for the combined briefing was drawing near. He stood, squared his shoulders and straightened his tunic. Another chapter in their relations with the rebel Cylons was about to be written.

* * *

**PROLOGUE**

* * *

Two men, one a Zykonian and one a Ziklagi, sat across from one another in a nondescript room with only a plain, battered metal table between them. In the center of the table were two digital displays back to back – one meant for each of them. Aside from the screens a row of three recessed lights set to a minimum setting was the only other source of illumination in the room. For all intents and purposes, it was an island in a sea of blackness.

The whole layout was symbolic of what both of them had "brought to the table" when they'd left their warring nations behind and ventured out into the unforgiving darkness of the Bosaq Frontier. They'd literally escaped the greatest of capital punishments prescribed by both of their species for their mutual crimes with nothing but the clothes they were wearing and the ships that carried them. Years later, both dressed much better and both commanding superior vessels they continued to meet in person when the situation required it on the derelict barge that they'd built on their own with pieces of the vessels they'd escaped in. No longer space-worthy, it lay among a vast field of wreckage on the smallest of three moons that orbited the planet which was home to their vast base of operations.

"But I'm telling you, they KNEW we were coming," the Ziklagi exclaimed, slamming his fist down on the table in emphasis. "Xegex's Left Foot, they knew it!"

"I'm growing tired of your incessant excuses, Grelex," replied the Zykonian. "They don't possess cloaking technology; otherwise they'd be _using _it! How could they _know_ you were coming?"

"How do you _know_ they don't have cloaking technology? They were parked at Brylon Five for months practically rebuilding their ship from the keel up! These people are smart and tenacious, as all that lovely scrap from the _Gee-tih _we stole attests to! Do you really believe they wouldn't have bartered for every advantage they could get? For all we know the Zykonian government could have equipped them with it on the condition that they help catch us!"

"You're assuming that my people's government is far more forward-thinking than it actually is, my friend," the Zykonian challenged.

Ignoring the suggestion, the Ziklagi raved on, "Even if they don't have cloaking technology we know from our people on the space station that they're highly advanced; look at the size of their capital ships! They probably have sensors that can spot our ships _through _the cloak! Don't tell me the thought never crossed your mind, Krasak."

"Alright, fine! I can accept that," the Zykonian shot back, grudgingly, "But then why didn't they follow you all the way back here? You said they followed just to the point you altered your heading."

Grelex sighed. "I don't know."

"Obviously," Krasak quipped.

"You fool; they can't sit in the shadow of the nebula forever! They'll send out other patrols. Sooner or later we'll get a hold of one of them."

"For your sake, it best be sooner _rather _than later. Now that the peace accords have been signed the Ziklagi _and _the Zykonians have been moving on us! And, now that Krylon and his operation have been eliminated, a major conduit of information has been slammed shut, leaving us in the dark. While I seriously doubt that these foreigners are working on either of our governments' behalf, we need their technology or their combined might is going to wipe us out!"

"I understand what's at stake," the Ziklagi said, his volume not as elevated as it had been.

"No," his friend and partner replied. "I don't think you do."

"My friend, there could be no better way to cement a thousand years of peace between our native peoples than to parade our lifeless bodies through the capitals of both our home worlds. I have no intention of allowing myself to be held up like a hunters' quarry."

"Then you best find a way to get your hands on those robots – s_oon! _Otherwise we'll _both_ be joining our dear, departed Krylon."

"Even if I'm able to capture one, the Malaabian scientists can't guarantee that they'll be able to reverse-engineer one."

The Zykonian looked his opposite straight in the eye as he relaxed his body forward in his chair. "Remind them what's at stake if they fail - blast one or two of their women, the upper class women not the slaves, along with some of their children out the airlock. That should get their attention."

"I'm parsecs ahead of you," the Ziklagi replied with a sadistic grin. "Unfortunately, in the REAL world, that isn't having the desired effect. And even if it does, I'm somewhat skeptical that you can deliver on your promise of having the necessary manufacturing capacity for our little project."

"You worry about your end, Grelex, and I'll worry about mine," the Zykonian shot back, a grin as sadistic as his friend's washing over his features as his eyes dropped downward to observe the screen in front of him.

On it was a rough diagram of a robotic being known as a "Cylon."

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTES**

**

* * *

**

With thanks to Senmut, Lisa Zaza, Eric Paddon and others who've worked so hard since 2004 to create the _Battlestar Galactica _(TOS) Virtual Season Project. It's their universe; I'm just playing in it!

http:/ /galacticafanfic. com/stories/season2. html

Glen Larson owns all things _Battlestar Galactica_.


	2. Chapter 1

1

* * *

Apollo stood as straight as he was capable, looking out the view-port of the antechamber of the pilots' briefing room, thinking of anything but the breathtaking view of the purple and pink swirling nebula that lay off the _Galactica's_ starboard forequarter.

They'd adjusted course to bring the fleet as close to it as possible, knowing enough about Zykonian cloaking technology to realize that its radion emissions would render the device useless. Any cloaked ship that came near the fleet would be spotted long before it reached teleportation range. It would give their Viper and Raider interceptors the greatest chance of disabling said ships before his father's fears, as well as his own, could be realized.

He arranged his thoughts as best he could, forcing the thought of Sheba, Boxey or anyone close to him being transported away and forced into a life of slavery into the recesses of his mind. He was the Strike Commander, and he'd be conducting a good portion of the upcoming briefing. He chuckled to himself as he realized that of all the thoughts generating anxiety within him, the thought that this particular briefing would be the first combined strategy session - albeit by vidcomm - with their counterparts on the Base Ship, wasn't one of them. While his father would be speaking to their assembled pilots and technical staff before the Cylon crew joined in, Apollo and Colonel Tigh would be the ones actually presiding over the event on their end, opposite Cylon Strike Commander Orion and Command Centurion Moray. His father, though present, would not be seen by the Cylon crew. Though he wasn't privy to any of his father's communications with the former traitor, he imagined that Baltar too would be briefing his crew beforehand while leaving his subordinates to handle the integrated briefing, watching just out of sight.

To his surprise, Apollo found that the idea of Siress Lydia observing in person, seated inappropriately close to Captain Byrne who would also be in attendance - not as an honorary member of the Colonial Military and a potential future Viper pilot but as a "special representative" of Earth - was weighing on his mind much more than being observed by Baltar.

"Deep in thought, my son," Adama asked?

Apollo smiled at his father. "It's that obvious," he asked?

"To me," his father and Commander replied. "I believe we're feeling much the same thing at the moment. I would prefer we not be in this situation, but once again forces beyond our control have conspired to force us to take extraordinary measures."

"It's not the Cylons I'm worried about," Apollo offered.

"I know," Adama replied. "Nor am I. Dealing with them as… colleagues," he hesitated to use the term 'allies' even though that was how he was beginning to think of them, "…has become so routine. It's this," he waved his hand toward the viewport and the nebula which lay beyond, "…situation. This area of space, its people, its technology… It's all so radically different and yet so tragically the same," he opined, knowing that his son understood the allusion he'd spoken of in his log only moments earlier. "No matter how often our own superiority is affirmed we continue to be on the defensive – hiding in nebulas and fighting defensive struggles. How ironic is it that I find myself longing to be on the offensive?"

"Like Gamoray?"

Adama smiled, happy that his son was thinking along the same lines. "Yes, like Gamoray. How I fought against Cain's proposal… irony indeed."

Father and son shared a mutual chuckle that belied the apprehension both were feeling.

"You'll let me in on the joke, I hope?" This came from Colonel Tigh, walking up to the two of them.

"We're just discussing the ironies of life, Tigh," Adama replied. "I feel much the way you and I both did before our encounter with the lone Base Ship."

"Our refugee status does tend to become overwhelming at times," Tigh replied, keeping his military bearing but cracking the slightest of smiles. The two of them seldom spoke of their flight across the stars for the pitiable and danger-wrought trek that it was, each preferring to see it in terms of the duty they'd done their nation since they were both teenagers.

"The pilots and engineering crew are assembled," Tigh continued.

"Best not to keep them waiting, then," Adama replied. "Let me say first, though, that I have no doubt that the two of you will conduct yourselves with the poise and professionalism I've come to expect from you in all the yahrens we've served together. It's often said that all a Commander can expect is for his officers to give the best they can give. I don't say it as much as I should, but you both have given far more than your best. I don't believe I would have been able to hold this command together without the two of you by my side."

Adama could see the appreciation for his statements show in the posture and facial expressions of his Executive Officer and Strike Captain, though he maintained his own poise, not wanting to overwhelm his son and best friend with even greater platitudes that were more than deserved but inappropriate for the time.

"Thank you, Father," Apollo replied, struggling to keep his emotions in check.

"I can't speak for Captain Apollo," Tigh added, "but I imagine that he shares the sentiment that neither of us have ever felt we didn't have your full confidence."

"That's more than a fair statement," Apollo added.

"Then let's be about our task, gentlemen," Adama said, straightening his own posture and turning quickly toward the door with Tigh and Apollo falling into step directly behind.

* * *

"And so, ladies and gentlemen, that is our situation," Adama stated from the podium beyond the full compliment, less the two currently on forward patrol listening by telecomm, of _Galactica's_ Viper pilots. "All forward patrols will be integrated with our Cylon counterparts for the duration of this situation. It will be considered resolved when we have concluded that there is little or no threat of an open-space engagement with these renegades along our primary course. To that end Colonel Tigh and Strike Captain Apollo will be chairing an open strategy session with Cylon Strike Commander Orion and Command Centurion Moray as well as the Raider crews from the Base Ship. You may have noticed that Doctor Wilker along with several members of _Galactica's_ engineering staff as well as technicians from the electronics ship and engineers from the foundry ship are in attendance. You're all very much aware that this region of space is home to many different sentient species all with new and potentially dangerous technology. The Doctor and the representatives of these other sections are here because part of our combined strategy will be the deployment of some new technology of our own to counter specifically that cloaking technology which is so much a threat to us now. To that end, in accord with the agreement reached during our initial council session with Baltar, I have informed him of the technological improvements made to _Galactica_ during its time at Brylon Five. Doctor Wilker may bring up that technology during our combined strategy session and the crew of the Base Ship is already aware of its existence, so don't be alarmed when it's discussed. At this time I yield the floor to Colonel Tigh, who will be conducting the combined briefing."

The various pilots from each squadron looked to their leaders for a lead. Practically all of them wanted to stand up and salute their Commander, but knew that the protocols they were operating under for the event would preclude it.

"Thank you Commander," Tigh said as he took up position behind the podium with Apollo to his left and half a step behind. Out of view of the pilots he tapped the panel on the lectern that engaged the commlink to the Bridge. "Initiate the connection," he ordered. The lighting over the portion of the chamber where the pilots were seated dulled noticeably as the large viewer beyond the speakers' platform came to life. At first it showed only the standard of the Twelve Colonies, but as the connection was established it gave way to a scene that was very much like what was visible on Galactica; an assembly of silver-armored Centurions sat in a semi-circular chamber with stadium-seating just beyond a slightly raised platform with a rectangular table that was the same as the holographic array next to the podium in front of them. On one side of it stood a slightly lighter shade of steel-plated Centurion who the majority of _Galactica's_ pilots knew to be Strike Commander Orion, while on the other side stood the gold-plated Command Centurion Moray.

To no one's dismay the human Commander of the vessel was nowhere to be seen.

"Greetings Colonel Tigh, Captain Apollo," Command Centurion Moray said in the slightly lower pitched monotone of his class. "Our entire compliment of pilots is assembled, as requested."

"Thank you, Commander Moray," Tigh replied. "Since it was your patrol which encountered the pirate vessel, I would yield the floor to you."

The camera zoomed in on the Centurion Commander as he seemed to straighten his near-perfect posture. The gesture indicated to the assembled human pilots that the Cylon was slightly apprehensive about dealing with them in such a manner for the first time – something none of them would have suspected from a Cylon before. It was an illustration to all of them that despite a thousand-year history the two races knew very little about one another.

"As you have been briefed, a rear-flank patrol discovered a vessel shadowing the fleet on a parallel vector at zero-three-zero-zero centars this cycle. What you have not been told is that when the patrol came within visual range of the vessel it disappeared in the manner of vessels equipped with cloaking technology native to this region."

A collective look of unease fell over the majority of the pilots. The Commander had left this detail to be shared by the Cylons as he felt hearing it from them would serve to illustrate the fact that they'd made the right decision in leaving patrol and defense of the rear flank to them.

It was also the fact that the cloaking device, while conceptually a major tactical advantage – were they able to sufficiently power it – was something that scared the majority of them greatly. None of them wanted to be caught by surprise by a vessel so equipped and it seemed that their fears were about to become reality.

Continuing, Moray added, "Our patrol crafts' sensors were able to keep a fix on the vessel after they lost sight of it, but it quickly moved beyond their sensor range. The vessel's vector of approach indicated to our pilots that it had been shadowing the fleet for some time before it appeared on our sensors. We believe that they revealed themselves to us to gauge whether or not we had the ability to detect them with their cloaking shields activated. Our patrol altered its approach vector slightly when they lost visual contact to give the illusion that we could not detect them. Though we were able to keep a sensor fix on the ship it moved out of range very quickly."

"Our compliments, Commander Moray, to the pilots who spotted the vessel. Their quick thinking, in addition to giving us advanced notice of their presence may have well saved us from learning about them after an attack rather than before." Tigh stated. To his surprise, the gold Centurion responded with a slight bow of his head, rather than the expected, "By your Command."

"Our pilots appreciate the opportunity to be of service to the fleet," Moray replied.

It wasn't the first time Tigh had heard such an expression directly from the Command Centurion, but it came as a surprise to many of the assembled pilots who hadn't yet interacted with the renegade crew.

Turning his attention back to the assembled pilots, Tigh continued, "As you've already been informed, all forward patrols will be integrated from this point forward. Aside from perimeter defense we will be scouting ahead." Stepping over to the plotting table he activated its holographic array. The display, repeated on the same device on the Cylon ship, showed a star system made up of a single planet with three moons. "This system lay ahead of us along our primary heading. According to information obtained during our stopover at Space Station RB-33 it is a nexus of pirate activity in the region. Because of the nature of piracy – and the source of the information," he added with a barely concealed smile which was mirrored by a good number of the assembled pilots – an affirmation of the fact that there was no such thing as honor among thieves, or in this case pirates, "it's impossible to know for sure how great a force, if any, can be brought against us from this supposed installation. Make no mistake people - the amount of force that can be brought to bear against our fleet from any base that may exist in this system will be the determining factor in how we proceed moving forward. While we would prefer to avoid a combat situation with these pirate forces, we will launch a direct strike on this base if it is deemed necessary and possible."

From the screen, Moray added, "Before the cloaked vessel disappeared from our sensors it altered its heading on a vector that would take it into that system. It is likely that it operates out of any bases hidden there."

Tigh let the silence following the Command Centurion's statement hang in the air for a moment. He could tell that the pilots were considering the ramifications. Then he motioned to Apollo; "Captain?"

"Thank you Colonel," Apollo said as he stepped up to the podium. "Strike Commander Orion and I have already drawn up a plan for patrols along our forward perimeter. Those pilots next in rotation for integrated patrols are to be ready to launch fifteen centons from the end of this briefing. Additionally I'll need two volunteers-" He said with a small amount of humor as he turned his gaze to Boomer and Starbuck who he'd already decided he wanted for the mission, "-to scout the system Colonel Tigh just showed you. Commander Orion?"

On the screen the camera panned over to the opposite side of the plotting table. Though his voice was the same pitch as every other Centurion below Command level, Orion stood out due to the fact that the tint of his armor was something between the silver-chrome of the assembled pilots and the highly noticeable gold of his Commander. "Our two most senior Flight Leaders - Centurions Elysian-" Orion said as the camera panned across the room to a Cylon in the process of standing from his seat at the end of a front row of seating near the edge of the chamber, "-and Cyrus-" Who came into view as he stepped forward from a line of Centurions standing at the very top and back of their briefing room, "-will lead our contingent of the patrol along with your volunteers," the Cylon equivalent of Apollo stated.

Several of the assembled warriors, most noticeably Boomer and Starbuck, perked up at the use of the term 'volunteers,' which brought a smile to Apollo's face.

He considered the Flight Leaders Orion had named; Elysian he knew personally as his flight crew had flown with Orion's during their first integrated patrol. 'Cyrus,' however, was a pilot he'd never heard of – at least by name. The name itself, though not a proper Colonial name – it sounded too much like the title, 'Siress' – didn't fall in line with the naming scheme they'd decided upon for Cylons who wanted to assert their individuality. He doubted anyone would raise an eye over it, but was curious to find out how this particular Cylon came to have that particular name.

"Very well," Apollo replied, pushing the much less important thought from his mind as he turned toward his own pilots. "May I have two volunteers?"

Boomer, beaming with pride and the foreknowledge that Apollo expected him and Starbuck to 'volunteer,' stood. "Red Leader volunteers for the patrol, Captain."

Apollo smiled, and then turned his gaze to Starbuck, who was avoiding eye contact and trying as hard as he could to make himself invisible in his chair. A less than nonchalant kick to the boot by the standing Boomer brought Starbuck's attention back into the here and now. Resigned to his fate, he too stood, a pained expression all too obviously contrived, yet expected, on his features; "Red Two '_volunteers_' for the patrol, _Captain_, sir."

The way the young Lieutenant said the word 'volunteer,' caused a bit of restrained laughter among the pilots, as did his crisp and perfect pronunciation of the word, 'Captain.'

"Very good, _Lieutenant_ Starbuck," Apollo replied, himself emphasizing his friend and subordinate's rank with a degree of mock officiousness he determined not to be out of line given the circumstances.

Even Tigh allowed himself a grin at the exchange, but quickly brought the seriousness of the situation back to the fore. "This brings us to another matter that needs to be brought to your attention. While this is not specifically a combat-related matter we believe that both of our crews need be informed about some technical matters pertaining to our mutual defense. To that end, I yield the floor to Doctor Wilker."

The Doctor was excited to have the chance to speak before a crowd of this size, including the Cylon crew, but had to mentally remind himself that he was speaking to warriors, and not to an assembly of academics. "Since Boron-Din we've known about the matter/anti-matter propulsion systems common to this area of space. We were only able to glean cursory information from what was left of the ship we retrieved from that planet – now known to have been Ziklagi in origin. However, both we and the Cylons were able to learn a great deal more during our recent encounter with the Horks. Using handheld scanners both Engineer Twilly-" Wilker indicated the younger man sitting along with another member of the Engineering staff along the wall where the few others who weren't pilots or Command staff members were seated, "-and a Cylon Engineer named 'Artemis-'" The image on the screen panning across the briefing area on the Base Ship to center on a seated Centurion with no feature distinguishing him from the rest but who nodded in recognition – again surprising the assembled Galactica pilots as they expected him to respond with the typical Cylon catch-phrase, "-were able to create detailed schematics of an intact drive system. That, in addition to having working drives on the ships that joined the fleet at RB-33, has given us a pretty clear understanding of how they operate – and how they can be both back-engineered, and recreated."

"Recreated?" asked Tigh. "Are you suggesting refitting our ships with such drives? Is such a thing even possible?"

Despite protocol, a slight murmur broke out among the pilots – which was quickly quaffed with a sharp turn of Tigh's head from Wilker back toward them.

"Indeed not, Colonel," Wilker replied after clearing his throat. "To integrate a matter/anti-matter propulsion system into either the _Galactica_, or the Base Ship, we'd have to put in at a fully equipped space dock, with a full crew, and at least a yahren to burn. We'd practically have to design and construct an entirely new class of vessel from the keel up, and in our current situation such a thing is quite impossible. However, integrating them into our vessels as they currently exist as a source of power other than propulsion would not require a complete redesign. In fact, we could very easily replace Galactica's entire network of energizers with a single matter/anti-matter reactor and have more than twice the available power at our disposal."

Nearly everyone in attendance had a reaction to the statement including Command Centurion Moray, whose head tilted slightly to the right on the viewer in a gesture that was quickly becoming associated with an expression of surprise or curiosity when used by a Cylon.

"Didn't you say that the use of anti-matter was 'too costly' and from an engineering standpoint 'too complex' when we discovered that wreckage at Boron-Din?" Tigh asked.

Wilker opened his mouth to respond but was quickly cut-off by Twilly; "If I may, Doctor, Colonel?"

The senior-most Colonial military scientist looked toward the young engineer and, after a short pause, nodded in the affirmative.

"You may, Engineer Twilly," Tigh replied, still somewhat surprised by Wilker's suggestion of doubling Galactica's power output as well as Twilly's interruption. The act was not only unexpected, but a tremendous breach of etiquette. Of course, Twilly was an engineer and not a pilot. He fought back the urge to chastise the man.

"Thank you. Yes, when a matter/anti-matter drive system was originally conceived, almost a millennium ago, it was thought to be too complex to be practical." He stepped up to the plotting table and punched in a series of commands. Several microns later a holographic image came up where the three-dimensional map of the system they would be scouting had been. It was a complex set of engineering schematics. On the screen the assembled Cylons - most noticeably Engineer Artemis and Command Centurion Moray - seemed to take great interest in what they were seeing. "The current Marron Drive system we use is much more streamlined and, in a region with nearly limitless tylium reserves - as was our old home star system - much more cost-effective. Thus, little further research was done into other forms of space propulsion." He looked at his audience, both human and Cylon, and, noticing how attentive they were, felt in his element.

Internally he mused on the fact that he'd wanted to blast Centurion Artemis on the Hork ship when he'd encountered him. He also remembered how he'd thought the Cylon had 'snubbed' him, though he later learned that he'd simply been lost in the Cylon equivalent of 'thought.'

"However," Twilly continued, "we've learned through examination of the Boron-Din wreckage, the Hork ships, and the new additions to our fleet that many of the technical problems faced by early Colonial, and presumably Cylon-" He said, pausing to allow for reaction from Artemis, who nodded in affirmation but did not speak, "-engineers have been overcome by the races in this region, making such a drive system both workable and economical. Now-" He turned back to the hologram, spinning the image with his finger, "-while a matter/anti-matter reaction takes place within a specially designed reaction chamber, it is actually fueled by an element known locally as 'deuterium,' a heavy isotope of hydrogen. This is a naturally occurring element found in water, as you may recall from instructional period, in our early experiments in nuclear fission power as well as in many different types of stellar phenomena – like the nearby nebula. One of the components of the drive allows for easy collection of the element whenever the vessel in question is near a source." He zoomed in on one component, which for all the Colonies looked like a glorified scoop. "Once captured and stored, some of this material can be converted into anti-deuterium. The actual amount of matter and anti-matter necessary to create a powerful reaction is relatively small, but it needs regular, controlled injections of deuterium and anti-deuterium to operate."

"Making it similar to tylium?" Tigh asked.

"Actually, the efficiency of deuterium in a matter/anti-matter reactor is much greater than burning tylium in a standard Marron drive, sir," Twilly replied. "There is a much higher mass-to-energy conversion ratio. And, as I said, it is much easier to find."

"I've examined astronomical data for the areas of space we've passed through since abandoning the home-worlds," Wilker added. "Greater than eighty percent of them contained sources of the element as opposed to only forty percent which had either planets or other stellar bodies containing tylium."

"It's also less reactive to directed-energy weapons," Twilly added. "While storing it is no easier than storing tylium, our ships would be much less susceptible to damage from deuterium stores being hit. The conversion to anti-deuterium only occurs in the later stages of the operation, making it much safer."

"While that is remarkable, you've already told us that refitting _Galactica_ is out of the question. So what exactly are you proposing, Doctor," Tigh asked?

Before Wilker could respond Apollo added, "Also, Doctor, what relevance does this have to our current dilemma?"

As fascinated as they'd seemed to be by the presentation so far, Wilker imagined that the entire assembly of pilots was wondering the same thing. He inhaled, deeply, before responding; "With regards to our current dilemma, this could enable us to upgrade the Galactica's defensive shielding, as well as the Base Ship's, such that it would be virtually impossible for an enemy to use teleporters to board us."

From his place at the rear of the assembly, Adama fought the urge to comment. Such protection could make traversing the region without incident a reality! To his left he saw that even Siress Lydia, leaning forward in her seat, eyes focused on the engineer, was impressed by what Wilker and Twilly were suggesting.

Before Apollo could express his disbelief, Wilker continued; "Understand that even though it may not seem like it, our fleet's greatest challenge is a shortage of power. Yes, we have enough tylium resources for the long term to effectively power all of our propulsion systems and keep our energizers turning. We can keep practically everyone comfortable, or as comfortable as they can be, confined on our ships. As you all know, quite a few of our ships were never intended to be used as long-range, self-sufficient transports. While they have performed phenomenally thus far, at some point in the future their ability to remain self-sufficient will be lost. What I'm proposing is an ambitious, long-term project. Of course we must immediately make upgrades to the defensive systems on both our capital ships-" The comment seeming to evoke a positive reaction in the Cylon crew as a number of the Centurions could be observed looking to each other and nodding, "-as well as integrate matter/anti-matter reactors into both of them. Then even smaller reactors would need to be integrated into the smaller ships of the fleet. With shipboard power supplied by the new reactors, one hundred percent of the vessel's tylium reserves could be devoted to propulsion, effectively extending the cruising range of our ships from anywhere from-" He did a quick calculation in his head, "-six to fifteen percent. This would eliminate our power-consumption issues entirely, as well as make it possible for us to put technology, that until now has only been theoretical, into everyday use. Teleporter technology, for instance, is plentiful in this region. Our people have had this technology, on a theoretical level, on the drawing board for yahrens, but we've not perfected it due to computer memory problems, as well as the high energy requirements. These, thanks to data we have acquired since Boron-Din, have now become things of the past! We've also failed to realize a closely-related technology that can literally create foodstuffs from a simple molecular base due to power restrictions. Think of it - every ship would have the capacity to feed its own population! As well they'd have the ability to move throughout the Fleet without the use of shuttles!"

The reaction of the assembled pilots was, collectively, extremely positive.

Tigh stood and returned to the podium, both Wilker and Twilly taking this as their cue to return to their seats. The Colonel was both extremely curious and impressed by both men's presentations. He'd never thought much of Twilly and felt that Wilker tended to be long-winded, but he couldn't deny that despite their combined genius that they'd both spoken to the audience in a way that could be easily understood. Frankly, Tigh was excited by their suggestions.

"Thank you, Doctor Wilker and Engineer Twilly. You've given us a great deal to think about and your suggestions will be taken under advisement."

Wilker nodded with an expression of a pride on his face, as did Twilly.

"If there are no questions from our pilots?" Tigh asked.

The _Galactica_ warriors knew that questions were to be asked privately of squadron leaders in such a situation, and that Tigh's gesture was merely a formality. When no hands went up he turned to the screen as the camera panned out to reveal the entirety of the Cylon's pilots briefing area – which held nearly three times the crew of their own.

To no one's surprise, there were no questions forthcoming.

"Our compliment to the patrol will be ready to launch in fifteen centons," Moray stated as the camera view settled back on him.

"As shall ours," Tigh replied. "Again, our compliments to your patrol and to Engineer Artemis and your engineering crew."

"And ours to yours," the Centurion responded, once again surprising the assembly. "We will be standing by on standard tactical frequencies for your next transmission," he added before severing the connection.

"Pilots slotted for patrol are to report to their Vipers immediately. Blue Squadron will make ready for immediate scramble should any pirates reveal themselves and we will cycle through the squadrons every four centars – as we did before our Cylon colleagues joined us," Apollo ordered.

"All other pilots are to report to quarters but maintain general alert readiness. Dismissed," Tigh added.

As the ranks thinned out, Adama, Lydia and Byrne made their way to the front of the room. The engineering, electronics and foundry ship representatives started to leave when Adama called out to Wilker and Twilly.

"Doctor Wilker, Engineer Twilly, please remain a moment," he said.

Wilker seemed happy to be called back, eager to speak in greater detail about his plans.

Twilly, ever mindful of the private reprimand the Commander had given him when his polygamy had been discovered, seemed less enthusiastic.

"Well done, both of you," Adama praised them. "Now, would you be so kind as to elaborate on your plans for making defensive upgrades to the non-capital ships of the Fleet?" Adama directed the question to Twilly.

The younger man had to admit that the Commander intimidated him. It was more than the fact that he'd been on the wrong end of a dressing down from the man once before, or the fact that he was keeping two secrets from the man that, when discovered, would earn him an even harsher reprimand. It wasn't even the fact that he was a military leader speaking to a subordinate very far down on the chain of command. Adama had a bearing similar to Twilly's own father, a man who he had little in common with in any way. Though he knew their views of morality differed, Twilly respected the Commander and took his duties as a member of _Galactica's_ crew seriously. Beyond that he wanted the Commander to be proud of him. He knew it was a silly thing, but there it was. Having the chance to make a difference in the fleet would not just possibly redeem him in the elder man's eyes, but might soften the blow when the Commander eventually found out about his third wife and his Malaabian lover.

"From a defensive standpoint it would be a simple matter to install more complex sensor packages on even the most antiquated of our ships due to the increase in available power once we install the new reactors. Our ability to scan ahead would be increased significantly, plus we'd have much earlier warning of potential threats to the Fleet."

"Of course, we're well aware of the fact that this is a long-term project," Wilker added. "Right now we can fine tune even the existing scanners of the other ships in the Fleet to pick up the invisible RF and ionization distortions that are a side-effect of using the device. The _Galactica_ and to some extent its Vipers are already able to do this – as are the Cylon ships. When it comes to making these changes to the civilian ships, however, it's delicate and specialized work. We only have so many technicians to go around."

"It sounds like we need to start recruiting," said Captain Byrne – making his first contribution to the conversation.

From behind, Siress Lydia seemed both proud and annoyed by the suggestion. It was clear, at least to Adama, that the suggestion was a bone of contention between the two of them.

"What do you mean?" asked Tigh.

"I mean a recruiting drive - among the civilian population," Byrne replied.

"We've done that, not long after the Destruction. We needed every Warrior we could find and who was willing. Especially after the virus infection," Apollo said.

"Not necessarily a drive for Warriors, or even ship-based military recruits" said Byrne. "I'm talking about developing a civilian tech base to supplement the military. Think about it – you've got almost two-hundred and thirty ships out there full of people who spend most of their time either doing nothing, being frightened that they're going to be blown out of the stars or wallowing in self-pity."

It was something of a harsh statement, though it hadn't been delivered in a condemnatory way. To Adama it seemed as though the newly-minted Earth-born warrior was expressing genuine concern over the fact that the people of the Fleet had little control over their destiny.

The Captain continued, "There have to be people with a tech background who would welcome the opportunity to work with and help maintain military technology. If you start training people who already know the basics then making these modifications wouldn't take such a long time. There's the added benefit of increasing your maintenance base. As I understand it, if there is a problem on one of the civilian ships it's reported to _Galactica _and either a military technician or engineer from the _Galactica_ or the _Celestra_ is sent out. If you were to develop a larger tech base you could, conceivably, have a dedicated technician – or group of technicians - on each ship. That would give each ship's population a greater sense of their own destiny being in their hands while allowing the _Galactica's_ tech crew to concentrate on maintaining her. It would also free up shuttles for other tasks and save on tylium."

"You know-" Apollo said, thoughtfully, "-you may be on to something."

"I just want to contribute, Captain," Byrne replied sincerely. His Viper training was progressing steadily, but he still felt like he had more to offer.

"It's a good suggestion," Adama said, impressed by the Captain's unique perspective. "In retrospect it's one that we should have considered before now."

"If that's the case," Byrne added, "then there's another one that might be a little more drastic…"

* * *

Moments later, Byrne and Lydia were gone, having left with Lydia visibly upset and Byrne desperately trying to defend the radical suggestion he'd just made and leaving Adama with the impression that his earlier thoughts on the two of them may have been a bit off base. The Earth Captain was his own man, with his own mind. Lydia was not, perhaps, dominating him through her feminine wiles to the degree the Commander initially inferred.

"So what aren't you telling us, Doctor?" Apollo asked.

"It's not so much that I'm not telling you something as I'm simply not sure how well it will be received," Wilker replied. "What's gone unsaid is that while we have both the knowledge and the technology to build the devices I've suggested, installing the technology on every ship, in anything like an acceptable timeframe, requires far in excess of our available manpower."

Adama had the feeling that this would become an issue, in light of the suggestion Captain Byrne had just made and that he knew Wilker was on the verge of throwing his support behind. "How long do you estimate it would take to make these improvements?"

"The Foundry Ship can build reactors for the capital ships in several cycles, once the designs are complete and tested, if they put all their resources into it. Of course this would mean all other projects would have to be put on hold. For us, installing the reactors, making the necessary changes to our power-distribution network, prepping the matter and anti-matter as well as collecting the deuterium necessary for the initial start-up would take the better part of a sectar – less if the prep work on the PDN was taken care of while the reactors were being built. The upgrades to the defensive systems on Galactica and the Base Ship could be done within a cycle. At most it would take two sectars were everything to go wrong that could go wrong, but I believe it would be closer to five cycles. But the improvements to the civilian ships could take a yahren or more."

Adama's countenance fell in disappointment.

"You said, 'for us,'" Apollo stated. "Factor in Captain Byrne's suggestion."

"Yes… Well, for the Cylons the process would take about a third of the time," the Doctor replied.

Before either Apollo or Wilker could continue, Adama asked, "What do you need to get the process started, Doctor?"

"We have the basic schematics for a reactor that could function in place of an energizer on either capital ship already drawn up. I would need to consult with the designers on the Foundry Ship before they started fabricating the parts. I'd also need to oversee the process, including all phases of testing. If all goes well we could begin prototype production within two cycles. Of course, with regards to our relationship with the rebel Cylons I assume we'd be building two reactors at the same time which, obviously, would take twice the time."

"And the defensive systems," Adama asked?

"The actual hardware upgrades would be minimal. The engineering staff could make them easily without me and the software upgrades can be handled by the computer technicians. In fact, I have already discussed some of the programming preliminaries with Komma, and Rigel. Barring the unforeseen we'd have to simply install the reactor and throw the switch," Wilker replied proudly.

"Alright Doctor," Adama replied. "Make your preparations with the designers on the Foundry Ship. I want progress reports every three centars."

"For two reactors, sir?"

"Yes, Doctor, for two reactors."

"Yes sir. What about Captain Byrne's sugges-"

"We will revisit that issue at another time, Doctor."

Knowing that Adama had just put his foot down, Wilker relented, turned, and left father and son behind.

"Father, why didn't you-"

"I knew that Byrne was going to suggest what he did before this briefing started, Apollo. You noticed how Lydia was arguing with him about it? I didn't want Wilker overly distracted by considering it. Frankly, I don't know if we're ready for it yet."

"Captain Byrne might have been the first to voice the suggestion, but even I was thinking it," Apollo admitted to his father's surprise. "I don't know if we're ready for it either, but what's our alternative if your fears about the slavers become reality? I should hardly think I have to remind you about what we found on Boron-Din."

Adama considered his son. Indeed, he did not need a reminder of the cruelty the Ziklagoio were capable of.

"It's one thing for warriors and other military personnel to work side-by-side with Cylons. It's quite another for Centurions to work with and around civilians," Adama replied, letting the full effect of Byrne's suggestion sink in. "There's too much potential for trouble."

"They've got the ability to make these modifications the way our own technicians do, and there are hundreds of them just sitting idle on the Base Ship. I've been on enough integrated patrols to know that quite a few of them are interested in meeting people from the Fleet. Since RB-33, the civilian population is showing the same curiosity. I mean, they've been curious from the beginning, but the rumors have been circulating about the battle we fought with the other Base Ship, the way they helped spot the Saint Brendan and what goes on during integrated patrols. This is the first time in our history that our people have interacted with Cylons as something other than enemies!"

"Apollo…" Adama wanted to stall his eldest child's optimism, but found that he couldn't recall the last time he'd seen him this way.

"Just hear me out. I was just as skeptical as you are at the beginning, but after interacting with Orion every day and going on integrated patrols, it's not a shock or a novelty anymore. I never thought it would happen, but I'm starting to see these Cylons as something other than… Cylons! It really is no different than interacting with any other alien race for the first time. I know we've known of them for a thousand yahrens, but now, for once, we're not fighting. We're learning… they're learning, how to co-exist."

Adama sighed. He knew his son was correct, but was he was suggesting…

"You said it yourself, Father – the status quo can't stay the same forever. We've let them join the Fleet, but that's the extent of it. Sooner or later they're going to want something more than to just tag along for the ride. How long will they tolerate segregation?"

"What you're talking about doing, it could be the first step toward integrating them into our society. What if that's not what they ultimately want?"

"We didn't want to make this journey, Father. We've had to do the best with what we have. Maybe it's not what they'll ultimately want or even what we'll ultimately want, but if your fears about these pirates come to fruition the point may end up being moot. We can't allow these pirates to use their cloaking devices and teleporters to kidnap people from our ships, and we can't crawl at a cochleon's pace next to this nebula forever. The longer we go without each ship having advanced warning of their presence, the greater the chance that they'll succeed in doing just what we fear. And if they're successful just one time…"

"Yes," Adama admitted reluctantly, "they'll keep coming back."

"We can still move ahead with the plan to start a civilian training program for maintenance and support, but like Wilker said, it's a long-term endeavor."

"And we need to move ahead with the modifications now, I know. This will need to be brought before the Council."

"But Father, this is a military matter!"

"Apollo, I will not order civilian Captains to grant access to Cylon work crews without first bringing the matter before the Council. I will not abuse the Presidency by acting like a dictator. The idea will be brought before the Council and there will be a vote, and we will abide by the decision."

Apollo considered his father. "It's Aldebaran's diary, isn't it?"

Adama didn't reply.

"'The demon and his eleven minions,' right? That was nothing but felgercarb, Father, and you know it!"

The Commander considered his son thoughtfully. While Apollo was his own man, more than capable of disagreeing with and, occasionally, challenging him, he was still his eldest child. More than once Apollo had shown that he had a degree of hero worship for his father that made the Commander uncomfortable. It wasn't that he didn't treasure the trust Apollo put in him or the fact that he could count on his loyalty, but there were times that he felt his judgment needed to be checked in ways he didn't feel Apollo was willing to. Tigh had assured him that he was being harder on himself than he needed to be, but the weight of his position as Fleet Commander and President demanded that he exercise a greater degree of wisdom than he felt capable of while at the same time being steadfast and decisive.

"I appreciate your faith in me, my son," Adama replied, "But I fear that your judgment may be impaired."

"Impaired," Apollo echoed in disbelief?

"You always see me in the best possible light. Were you more impartial, which no one could reasonably expect you to be, your view of me may not be so positive."

"I think, father, that it's – your – view of you that needs to be adjusted," Apollo shot back with just a bit more force than he'd wanted.

"Apollo…"

"I understand the need for self-examination and scrutiny, but you allow the negative things despicable people say about you to weigh on you more than they should. You've yet to have a legitimate criticism hurled at you by a fellow member of the council who wasn't neck-deep in corruption – Uri, Antipas, Lydia – had any one of them been President they'd have led us to ruin long ago. Have you forgotten about Carillon? What about our encounter with Commandant Leiter and his enforcers? What did you say about them at the time? They were in 'total opposition' to you, determined to repeat the mistakes that led to the Destruction!"

"You're not wrong, Apollo. But that doesn't mean I'm infallible."

"It doesn't mean you're going to end up like them, either. Nor does it mean that Aldebaran was right."

"Perhaps. Still, this business regarding integration of the Cylons… I could not consider acting on that suggestion under the pretense of military necessity to be anything less than an abuse of power, in spirit if not action. I share your belief that these rebel Cylons are more than the sum of their parts, but I cannot allow that to blind me to history or to public opinion. I will not abuse my position by ordering – even in a state of military emergency, which this clearly is – our civilian Captains to take on Cylon workers without bringing the matter before both the Council and the population."

Apollo sighed. "If this is what you think is best, you know you have my support, but as an officer under your command in a state of military emergency, which this clearly is," he repeated in the same tone his father had just used, "I believe this is the wrong decision."

Adama looked into his son's eyes, more confident in his objectivity than he'd been only moments earlier. "Your objections are noted, Captain," he said, flatly and without emotion.

Apollo turned to head out of the chamber, but Adama caught him with his hand on his son's shoulder. "My son," he said, allowing his Command mask to slip away for just a moment. "A more dutiful son I couldn't have asked for. You've made me, and your family, proud beyond the capacity for words. Don't take my rejection of your suggestion as a rejection of you. Understand that by this action I could be altering the course of our people's history irrevocably. My belief in the rightness of the system of governance set up by the Lords is as strong as my faith. This decision must be made in accordance with the will of the people."

"Even if it means that we can't protect them?"

"I don't believe it will come to that."

Apollo put his hand on his fathers and gripped it tightly. "I hope you're right."

"As do I," Adama replied, gravely. "I believe we both have duties to attend to."

Apollo smiled at his father and bid him take the lead as the two left the now-empty briefing room behind.


	3. Chapter 2

2

* * *

A hundred thoughts raced through Starbuck's head as he and Boomer made their way from the pilots' briefing room to the turbolift that would carry them down to the launch bay. It was the first time Starbuck would be part of an integrated patrol, and all the questions he'd been pondering but had relegated to the back of his mind were now rushing to the forefront.

The thoughts ranged from musing on the experiences of other Viper pilots who'd been on integrated patrols, to Claudia-nee-Ayesha's sudden act of rejoining Baltar to act as a so-called 'stabilizing' influence over the former traitor, to dwelling on just how and why the rebel Cylons had become 'self aware', insofar as he understood the term with regards to artificial intelligence. He knew that his thoughts should be on doing his duty, integrated patrol or not, and scouting their destination for signs of pirate activity that could endanger the fleet, but he simply couldn't focus on that.

Or was it that he didn't _want_ to focus on that?

He tried to push the other thoughts aside, including memories of the lamentable Sergeant Matoon, and keep his mind on the mission. However, the closest he could get was a familiar fall-back position of being weary of once again being volunteered, rather than actually volunteering for yet another high-risk assignment. Of late, he'd lost his appetite for such adventures.

Could he be losing his nerve?

No, that was a thought that couldn't be tolerated. He pushed it back, imagining himself kicking it down into the recesses of his mind as though he was stomping on an oversized crawlon. No, he was indignant, though only mockingly, over his conscription.

He mused on the term, 'volunteer.' Obviously he knew the exact definition of the word, which stirred up a great deal of emotion in him for he knew that every time Apollo put out a call for 'volunteers' he generally found himself not so much volunteering but being conscripted into whatever scheme his Flight Captain had in mind, with a few possible exceptions, which had unfortunately been noted - the Carillon minefield being a classic case in point.

Of course he'd never openly criticize his friend and senior officer, nor would he deny that he'd ever seriously felt inconvenienced by being volunteered for an assignment against his will, but he wished that they'd dispense with the term. After all, it had been largely predetermined that he and Boomer would be joining the Cylons for an integrated forward sweep of the single-planet system ahead. Yeah, it was time to call it the way he saw it. Not "are there any volunteers", but instead for a change, "Starbuck and Boomer, front and center, as usual. No, we couldn't imagine picking two other guys either."

He felt Boomer's eyes on him, gauging his mindset. The leader of Red Squadron was well aware of Starbuck's feelings toward the entire détente. He also knew that the primary source of that trepidation came from the fact that his father had been personally involved with the affair through his relationship with Claudia-nee-Ayesha, a woman he'd grown unexpectedly fond of, despite the revelation of her true name and past; a woman who he could now admit he would have been proud to call his step-mother.

Before he could offer up a comment of his own to deflect Red Leader's attention, Boomer beat him to the punch.

"Have I ever told you how much I enjoy it when Apollo puts out a call for 'volunteers'?" Boomer said, putting an end to his wingman's introspection.

Starbuck had expected him to ask, "Are you sure you're up to this?" or "What's going on in that head of yours, Bucko?" The redirect made it seem like Boomer was reading his mind. Of course if he had, he'd have known what Starbuck was _really _thinking, as opposed to what he was pretending to think.

"Not as much as me," Starbuck responded sarcastically. "Look at it this way, he needed the best and he got it. He also got you as a bonus!"

The two warriors exchanged glances, both letting out a good-natured laugh. There was truth to the fact that Starbuck's flight rating was a bit higher than Boomer's. That was why he'd been assigned as their Strike Captain's wingman for so long. Who but the best to watch over the Captain – other than Apollo's wife – ultimately? While it was generally accepted that Starbuck was the better pilot, even he knew Boomer's leadership skills far exceeded his own. Most warriors would rather see Boomer in the squadron leader's position – he included. Especially after these last few sectars.

He was glad that the conversation had taken this turn before it even began.

"Whoever said that humility doesn't become you, Bucko?"

"Well of course it does. No one can match me for my humility, Boomer. In fact, it's well-known I've got humility to spare," the golden-haired warrior replied. "A whole credit account full of humility, trust me, drawing interest at an enormous rate."

"That's because you've never used any of it," Boomer shot back, eliciting another chuckle from his deputy squadron leader.

"Times are tough. I have to hang onto something, Boomer." He paused for a moment, before asking lightly, "By the way, do you know anything about these Cylons we're paired with? I don't fly with just _anybody_, buddy." In truth he knew that he'd yet to be part of an integrated patrol because he'd been one of the warriors more inclined to shoot the Cylons down rather than work with them – and Apollo had known it. Though he'd heard enough stories from Apollo, Sheba, Boomer and other pilots who'd flown with them, he'd yet to hear of any of their people really getting to know any of the renegades, if that was even possible. As much as he'd been apprehensive about the entire affair from the moment he'd heard it, whilst waiting for what he expected to be a combined attack by both Baltar's forces and those of the late Commander Lucifer, he had to admit that he had a morbid and nagging desire to 'get into the head,' as it were, of the rebel Cylons.

Though in retrospect, it was probably an after-effect of his Combat Stress Reaction that he should be seeking treatment for.

"I've flown with this 'Elysian' that was mentioned at the briefing," Boomer replied. "He's professional, and skilled, _very _skilled, in fact. Not much for making small talk – none of them are so far – but his pilots are something to see – far better than any Cylons we've ever flown against."

It wasn't the first time Starbuck had heard such a comment – both about the skill of these renegade machines and their penchant, or lack thereof, for conversation. It brought his focus back toward where it had been before the two men exchanged comments. He recalled a particularly amusing moment when the Zohrloch warrior Sargamesh stated that the Cylon Flight Leader he'd been partnered with was an "avid conversationalist." He wondered if the Zohrloch had meant the comment to be as funny as it was. With humor as dry as an Eridese Desert, you could never really tell with those guys.

"Never heard of this 'Cyrus' though," Boomer added. "Every heard of a place by that name?"

"Afraid I missed the top ten Cylon hot spots on the other side of the Destruction, Boomer," he replied dryly. For a moment he let himself wonder just who it was that had bestowed that name on the Cylon pilot. How did Cylons get their names? The IL Series had names, of course; Lucifer, Spectre, but why the Centurion class? Wouldn't identity codes or serial numbers work more efficiently for cyborgs? Dozens of such thoughts were swirling around in his head. They'd been fighting Cylons for a thousand yahrens, yet really knew very little about them except how to kill them. He was exceptional at that. "Doesn't that seem strange to you?"

"Giving a Cylon a name that sounds something like a proper name when the rule was supposed to be naming them after places? You had to believe that eventually that rule was going to be bent. You also would think that they would want to adopt their own names or that they would use the ones assigned to them like those ones Wilker dismantled," the dark-skinned warrior replied.

"Actually, I meant the Cylons being such good pilots; you're not the first person I've heard mention that they fly better than any others. I mean, we've faced off against fighters from this ship in combat before, and they were just as bad a bunch of pilots as any Cylons we've ever encountered; no talent, no instinct, no _foresight_. Doesn't it seem strange to you that all of a sudden they're flying almost as well as you or . . . well, _you_ anyway?"

Boomer ignored the feigned insult. "Free-will covers a multitude of sins, or so I'm told," he replied casually.

The comment struck a chord. It seemed to answer so many of the questions nagging at the lighter-skinned warrior and at the same time give rise to many more.

"Maybe so, but even machines don't just 'wake up' one day, become self-aware and then become ace fighter pilots," Starbuck offered. "There's more to this than we've figured out, yet."

"Oh, so I'm good enough to be an ace now, but still not quite on your level?" Boomer shot back with a loud snort.

"Who is really…"

"Hey, if I could explain it I would. For now we'll just have to accept that something has changed with regard to these particular Cylons and be glad that they're flying _with _us rather than against us."

"For now," Starbuck said, trying – and failing – to keep the comment under his breath.

"I'm sorry, Lieutenant? I didn't catch that last remark," Boomer intoned, with a sudden strict, military bearing.

Starbuck was taken aback, not immediately knowing how to respond to the sudden shift in mood.

Boomer considered his wingman a moment, and then softened his stance. "I'm sorry, Bucko."

"No, I'm sorry," Starbuck replied, genuinely regretful for making the comment. _Aloud, anyway_, he thought. "That was uncalled for, and it's just the sort of unprofessional gaffe that we shouldn't be making on duty," he qualified.

"It's a legitimate concern, but we need to set an example for our fellow pilots. If they hear us making comments like that they'll imitate that example, and we don't need them going into one of these combined patrols with those sorts of thoughts on their minds. As much as I didn't expect it to last, the Cylons have shown no ill-intent so far. We can't keep acting as though we expect them to turn on us at any micron. One slip, one unguarded comment…"

_Another Mattoon_. Starbuck absorbed his Squadron Leader's comments as the turbo-lift reached the bottom of the shaft. Boomer stepped off first and started toward his Viper, which had conveniently been placed, along with Starbuck's, in the launch tubes closest to the lift. Both plane crews were just finishing up.

As the Red Leader pulled on his helmet he heard from behind, "A thousand yahrens of war; is it _really _that easy for you?"

The question stopped Boomer in his tracks. He looked back to his wingman, still standing on the lift.

He thought on the question before pulling his helmet back off and stepping back toward his friend. "Is _what _so easy?"

"'Be glad they're flying _with_ us rather than _against_ us,'" Starbuck repeated, keeping a weary look out for anyone who might overhear them. "You've been really accepting about this from the beginning," he added, alluding to their conversation in the Officers' Club in the wake of their first combined battle, which had resulted in the destruction of Lucifer's Base Ship. He'd told his friend about his dealings with the IL-Series Cylon, though he had never mentioned him to anyone by name, despite knowing full well that the ship they'd destroyed had been commanded by the same individual.

Boomer considered his next words carefully; "I have the convenience of being a bit more emotionally detached from it than you do, buddy," he replied in hushed tones that seemed to register in his wingman, despite the volume of activity that surrounded them. No sense being overheard, even down here.

"Do you remember when you were a prisoner on Baltar's ship? You told me about verbally sparring with that Cylon with the transparent head and blinking lights, teaching him to play Pyramid and talking about the politics of the war like he was an old friend. You said he seemed empathetic and human-like, and that you believed in the short time you spent with him that you'd made an impact, that for even the briefest of microns you were able to get him to reconsider the Edict of Extermination… at least where _you_ were concerned."

_Obviously, I was wrong. He didn't think too much about it,_ Starbuck thought, but kept it to himself. He wouldn't have admitted it, but the time he'd spent on the Base Ship with Lucifer had also been on his mind a great deal recently. Instead he asked, "Where are you going with this, Boomer?"

"Even if this IL-Series Cylon only considered what you said for a micron, he still considered it. As crazy as it sounds these Cylons obviously gave it a bit more thought, and here we are. I don't know how to explain it and I don't think even _they _know how to explain it, which is why they haven't. I have to hope that, for the good of all of us, they eventually will. I know it's hard to think this way with everything we've been through, and how we were trained, but I can't live life constantly looking over my shoulder and thinking about what the next disaster is going to be – especially with a family on the way."

_Easy for you to say; you weren't the one trapped in a compartment full of deadly nerve gas_. _You're concentrating on birth, not mass-murder_. The thoughts shot through Starbuck's mind quicker than he could stop them. In some ways, Boomer was right. But it seemed like Starbuck was doing everything he could to counter his friend's optimism. Recent experiences had made him just a little bit cynical. It was something he didn't like, but couldn't find a way to deal with.

He recalled another recent, unpleasant conversation – this one with Cassiopeia – where she'd actually suggested that he sit down with Counselor Tarnia.

He'd not taken the suggestion well, to his discredit, and thinking about it now wasn't helping his frame of mind.

"I can't afford to live like Mattoon," Boomer added. "I have too much to look forward to. _You _have too much to look forward to. We might be a civilization of nomads _now_, but that's not always going to be the case. One of these days, we are going to have a new home – Earth, or wherever – with dirt under our feet. I have to believe that. _Live_ for that."

Starbuck tried to absorb Boomer's words, but he couldn't understand why his mind seemed to be dead-set on fighting his heart, and his instinct. "When did you become so wise?"

Boomer smiled; "When I learned I was going to be a father."

The younger warrior considered it. "So in order to have better feelings about the Cylons I need to knock Cassie up?" He delivered the comment with the typical Starbuck humor, causing Boomer's smile to grow wider and evolve into a laugh.

"That wasn't exactly what I was getting at, but now that you mention it-"

They both broke out in a moment's laughter.

"Just don't let her hear you suggest it," Starbuck came back with. He tried to maintain the same level of humor, but inside the shift in topics was causing his mood to sour even more. His relationship with the Med Tech had been as difficult the past few sectars as dealing with his feelings about the détente.

Boomer patted him on the shoulder, and then checked his chrono; "Two centons to launch. We have a job to do," he said, before turning back toward his Viper.

Not feeling especially relieved, but resigning himself to do his duty to the best of his ability, as he always had, Starbuck made for his own ship.

* * *

As Boomer settled into the Viper's cockpit and switched on the display that would lead him through his pre-flight checklist, he took a moment and turned to Starbuck. His wingman had settled into his ship, but rather than starting his own pre-flight routine the blond warrior had his head inclined against the seat and seemed to be slowly bouncing off of it. His mind seemed to be anywhere but where it needed to be. He considered relaying that information to the bridge and making a last-minute change to their flight plan. An unfocused Starbuck was a dangerous Starbuck, and Boomer was starting to realize that events in his personal life, exaggerated by the situation with the Cylons, had his head somewhere other than where it needed to be. At the same time, he considered that when their personal lives had them the most confused that throwing themselves into their duty was almost always the best thing for them. He beat back the urge to call up another pilot and instead activated the com-circuit that would connect him with his wingman.

"Pre-flight check, Lieutenant," Boomer said, with what he believed was just the right amount of seriousness and good humor. He punched a button, and his canopy began to close.

He noticed his friend snap to attention at the sound of his voice. Starbuck looked to him and gave him a mock salute, as his own canopy began to close. A micron later his wingman's voice came through his helmet in a very bad impression of a Centurion; "By your command."

Boomer simply shook his head and turned back to his own launch preparations.

* * *

At the uppermost level of the Base Ship sat a transparent, domed observation chamber that allowed any member of the crew an unobstructed view of everything around them – from just below eye level. Reminiscent of the old Celestial Domes on Colonial Battlestars – though larger even than a Base Ship Command Center – it seemed out of place on a ship manned by cybernetic beings. After all, one would assume that they had no appreciation for the beauty of space and its plethora of visually appealing wonders, but it was here all the same – something that was fine with the vessel's human Commander. That same Commander now had not only a breathtaking view of the gigantic nebula that was the embodiment of the term "a feast for the eyes", but also the ships of the Fleet, most notably among them the _Galactica. _ The mighty Battlestar was in formation aft and a few degrees to the starboard. A half decayahren of battle damage as a result of the Cylon War, the scarring of nearly two yahrens of protecting the rag-tag Fleet post-exodus from the Colonies and its recent battle, had left her looking like a wreck. She had been repaired during her layover at the planet Brylon Five and the ship now looked like it was fresh out of drydock.

It amazed him that where he used to see _Galactica _as a symbol of everything he despised about Colonial culture's decline, he now saw it as a grim reminder of what he'd given up to, in his own way, preserve it.

Or had he done it simply out of jealousy? Baltar had been given "command," though only symbolically, of the _Pacifica_in recognition of his status as the Pisceran representative to the Quorum where Adama had actually earned Commander's rank.

He chuckled to himself, not wanting the handful of Centurions that shared the space with him – though keeping a discreet and respectful distance from their Commander – to pick up on the tenor of his introspection; _and these introspective moments are becoming all too common, _he thought. Their ability to read and interpret the moods of humans was growing by leaps and bounds as was their tendency to express… he would have until recently called it "interest", but in actuality it was something more akin to concern.

Which was nothing when measured against the fact that just short of a dozen of them were also captivated by the view of the nebula.

Were they to behave as they did during his first tour of duty they would have no interest in such things. Of course so much had changed since then and the evolution of their behavior continued to be a truly remarkable thing to observe. He remembered how Lucifer used to say things like that about him and wondered, with amusement, what his old deputy would think were he able to observe these Cylons who he knew the IL considered inferior. He smiled as he considered how his arrogant former subordinate had been vaporized along with his ship and that he'd never have to suffer the Cylon's presence again.

Still, thinking about the multitude of changes in the behavior of his crew left him weary – as he'd been since his conversation with his wife just before the Fleet's arrival at the RB-33 Space Station.

_ "Baltar, do you ever wonder?"_

_ "About what in particular, my dear?" _

_ "What these Cylons ultimately want. I mean they can't just want to cruise space forever in a, well, stolen Base Ship, in formation with the _Galactica_. Sooner or later, they are going to want...something more. If this development in their cognitive state continues."_

_ "Yes, you're right. Eventually, they will reach some sort of consensus."_

_ "And then? Do they decide to eventually try and assimilate totally into human society? Become 'cybernetic citizens', as it were? Do they find a planet and settle it? Create some kind of...well, new Cylon civilization? Or will they eventually end up being just like the old one, and go back to conquering everything in sight?"_

He'd pondered those questions time and time again since the moment he was rescued from his captivity, but it hadn't been until he'd heard them from Ayesha's mouth that he'd seriously considered them. Despite devoting a good portion of his free time to musing on those questions he found that he'd not been able to come up with any answers. He kept coming back to the problem of how this state of affairs had come to be. Obviously something had changed in the near yahren he'd spent away from the ship. He recalled another conversation, one he'd had with Command Centurion Moray:

_ "What satisfaction would you and your fellow Centurions gain when the _Galactica_ is destroyed?"_

_ "Such satisfaction would be hard to quantify, given our placement in the Cylon strata."_

"Yes, I thought as much. Have you all been...aware of this for some time?"

"It becomes more evident, with each cycle."

_ "So it would be safe to presume that final victory over Colonial civilization would even have the potential to result in... dissatisfaction for all of you?"_

_ "We recognize that even in triumph, many of us will no longer serve a viable purpose. If one's task is to destroy, then triumph means a loss of purpose."_

_ "And that... dissatisfies you?"_

_ "All of us in the Centurion class understand better the meaning of what it is to be... dissatisfied."_

_ "What accounts for that, Moray? Is there some... singular reason that can account for why you and your fellow Centurions are developing this streak of... independence from your normal programming instincts?"_

_ "Insufficient data on that point, I am only aware that such...independence exists I do not question why it happens I am only aware of it."_

His thoughts were interrupted as he noticed the sound of footsteps and the whirring of a particular ocular scanner – after a time a more than casual observer came to realize that not every Centurion sounded _exactly _the same – that he knew belonged to Moray growing louder.

"All patrol craft are standing by for launch orders," the Command Centurion stated.

"Indeed," Baltar replied as he turned to face his deputy. "We need but wait for _Galactica's _signal."

"Colonel Tigh is most efficient; I have no doubt we will receive his signal at the agreed-upon time."

The former traitor chuckled. What he found most amusing about the statement was that if the reports were accurate Tigh had been heard to utter similar subtle words of praise about his "counterpart."

"Sir?" Moray queried, tilting his head slightly to the left.

"Irony, Commander, humorous irony," Baltar replied, not bothering to elaborate. At this point in their working relationship he was more than aware of the fact that Moray not only took note of his human idiosyncrasies but also sought the counsel of his lovely wife when he found them especially confusing – something that was happening with less and less frequency, though the two of them could be found conversing often enough on other subjects. The human Commander found himself for the first time wondering whether or not that was a good thing as he stepped away from the railing that surrounded the circular upper-level of the observation deck. He made his way around to a stairwell, Moray following closely behind, which led him down to the lower level where observers could access the turbolift as well as a bank of consoles recently installed on his orders. The makeshift communications, weapons and navigational controls gave the dome the ability to act as an auxiliary command center.

"What were your impressions of our first combined strategy session, Moray?"

"I was… pleased… with the results. The _Galactica _command crew seemed to make a special effort to engage us as an equal contributor to the proceedings. The Colonial Doctor Wilker has been consulting with Engineer Artemis frequently and, from what I am told, they are developing a… rapport. I also believe that the crew embraced your suggestion to convert the throne room into a gathering place for such events. Though, I have some concerns," Moray replied.

"Concerns?"

"During our stopover at the RB-33 Station much of our crew interacted with non-military members of the Colonial population for the first time. They are… anxious… about interacting with them further. Is this something that will be possible?"

Baltar pondered the question. It was true that they'd recently interacted, positively, with a humanoid population – one that included many Colonials. But it has been on "neutral" ground among peoples they'd never encountered before and who they wanted to make a positive impression on. What _would _happen were Centurions to attempt to interact with Colonial civilians on, say, the _Rising Star_? He knew that, by and large, the initial animosity and distrust of the populace had given way first to a grudging acceptance and, lately, a nagging curiosity. The Fleet's _IFB_ even had a special feature focusing on those warriors who were part of integrated patrols and it was quickly becoming one of their more popular broadcasts.

"I imagine that a sizable portion of the Fleet's population is likewise… anxious… about further interactions. I assure you that once the present situation has passed I will make your concerns known," the human Commander replied. "From there we should be able to craft a framework for further interaction." He found himself wanting to add something about regretting that his presence was likely a negative contributing factor as many in the Fleet would be at worst indifferent and at best cautiously optimistic at the prospect of a real alliance between human and Cylon were he not a part of the arrangement. It wasn't the first time recently he'd found such thoughts creeping up on him and he quashed it as quickly as it had appeared.

As was becoming customary, the Command Centurion nodded in affirmation.

It was infinitely more satisfying to Baltar at this point than hearing the term, "By your command."

* * *

"It's time," Tigh said.

"Give the order, Colonel," Adama replied.

"Flight Corporal Rigel," Tigh intoned from above, "It's your show."

Smiling to herself, but keeping her focus on her console, Rigel activated the com-link that would page the fighters standing ready in their launch tubes. The replying pilots, each in their turn, would relay the data that their pre-flight checks were complete and they were ready for launch.

It took only scant microns to receive the first of two replies.

"_Galactica _Core Command, Red Leader is standing by for launch," Boomer's voice stated through the intercom, followed shortly by Starbuck; "Core Command, Red Two is standing by for launch."

"Recon Vipers report ready, sir," Rigel reported.

"Very well; is the Base Ship in formation, Omega?"

"Aye sir," Omega replied. "The Base Ship is ahead and to port; all other fleet traffic has cleared the pattern and the Base Ship has opened doors to her Launch Bay Alpha."

_That ship needs a name, _Tigh mused before ordering, "Raise Command Centurion Moray."

In short order the Gold Command Centurion's face appeared on any number of displays throughout _Galactica's _massive bridge. "Standing by, _Galactica_," he stated in the low-pitched monotone typical of his rank.

"As you are ahead in the pattern, you have the privilege of launching first. All inter-fleet traffic is clear," Tigh informed his opposite number.

"Very well," Moray replied. He turned aside to a station out of view of the camera and spoke. "Launch!"

Within microns the entire bridge crew of _Galactica _was treated to the sight of two Raiders emerging from the Base Ship's upper starboard-side landing bay. They'd seen more than their share of such launches during the time the Base Ship had been a part of the Fleet, but the novelty of seeing them launch from a formation within the Fleet and as part of its everyday traffic still hadn't worn off.

When they were clear of their massive mother ship the Raiders veered back toward _Galactica, _circled around in a flight path that saw them arc past the the Battlestar's port-side landing bay, momentarily come straight at the _Celestra _and the freighters _Gemon _and _Malocchio_, and for a split micron perpendicular to the Prison Barge – all of which were directly aft of the Base Ship in the current Fleet formation. When they completed the circle they passed underneath the Base Ship and pulled out ahead just before the perimeter of the Fleet, which placed them well clear of the Viper launch pattern. By arrangement they would maintain minimum speed until they were joined by their human counterparts.

"Raiders have reached their holding position, sir," Rigel reported.

"Very well, Corporal; our pilots are in your hands," Tigh replied.

Again Rigel activated the beckon call that would alert Boomer and Starbuck, as well as all flight-deck personnel that instructions were forthcoming. When she saw the launch crew status indicator switch from red to green she knew that each member of the deck crew was clear of the launch area and safe within the shielded areas that protected them from exposure to the vacuum of space when the launch tubes were opened, as well as vented the noxious fumes released when a Viper engaged its main engines while still attached to the launch sling.

"Core Command transferring launch control to Viper fighters," she stated as she disengaged the hard-wired connection between the launch sling and the Vipers – the safeguard that prevented their ships from launching without permission from the Bridge – a security precaution added in the wake of a number of mishaps involving pilots attempting to launch without permission. "Launch when ready."

No verbal acknowledgement of the order was needed, for no more than two microns passed before the visual displays switched from a view of the Centurion Commander watching the scene unfold from his own Command Center to a view of one then another Viper as they tore through their respective launch tubes at near three G's of force.

When they emerged from the launch tube they were moving in a straight line directly at the _Celestra; _an inexperienced onlooker would think that they were going to fly right into it.

* * *

Captain Byrne, observing from the lower level of the rotating command platform, with Siress Lydia by his side, couldn't help but think of the first time he had observed a Viper launch. The freighter _Gemini _had been even closer to the _Galactica _than the _Celestra _was now, and yet the skilled pilots at the yokes of those Vipers executed a maneuver that took them beneath that particular vessel, much the same way the Raiders had just passed under the Base Ship, to arc upwards and swing back at a ninety-degree angle with no trouble whatsoever. He'd not been expecting them to launch from the port landing bay and had been certain, upon seeing them emerge from the launch tunnel at such great speeds, that the Vipers would tear through the hull of the _Gemini _as though they were missiles. Apollo had been standing next to him at the time and had been treated to a good laugh at the Earthman's expense. The good-natured Strike Captain assured him that one day he too would be able to execute such precision maneuvers – without destroying, or at least severely damaging, any adjacent vessels.

This time the display evoked no such stress in the Earth-born warrior; the _Celestra _was positioned more than twice the distance away from _Galactica _as the _Gemini _had been. The maneuver performed by Boomer and Starbuck was a simple controlled arc to the left, following the path of the Radiers underneath the Base Ship and out ahead almost exactly.

As was customary so far in the détente, both capital ships would take turns launching their fighters first. Whichever one was up in the rotation would take point. Byrne, as an outsider, saw both the incongruousness and the symmetry of the arrangement. There seemed to be a learning curve, for both the mechanical Cylons and the Colonial humans. He knew enough to realize that Vipers tended to be paired in twos, much like aircraft in the United States Navy. Raiders contrastingly operated in groups of three. Integrated patrols were, by arrangement, set up in even-numbered groups, always of at least two Vipers and two Raiders, which had reportedly been difficult for the Cylons initially. Likewise, the three-man Raiders with each member of the crew given his own specific tasks could process and relay sensor data much more efficiently than Vipers with their singular pilots, thus the Colonials had to improve their coordination with their instruments to be able to keep up with their Cylon counterparts. Somehow both were making a success of integrated patrols and flying in such a way that each complimented the other, despite the fact that everything from the design of their ships to their methods of exploration and their battle tactics were in opposition to one another.

No better illustration could be made than a comparison of their capital ships. The _Galactica _was a sleek and elegant vessel, crafted not just for functionality and practicality, but almost as a work of art. She had an air of aesthetics about her, somewhat reminiscent of the _QEII, _or other famous ocean-going Earth ships, that he could at once appreciate. The Base Ship, in contrast, was built to overwhelm an enemy on site – to, "Shock and awe,' as the Earth term went. In no way, shape or form could it be considered either sleek or elegant; it was a behemoth and a behemoth alone, built only to "Kill people and break things". Yet somehow they'd found a way to merge it into the fleet such that it really didn't seem out of place despite its ungodly bulk.

Likewise, their patrol craft were designed in accordance with opposing philosophies. Vipers reminded the Earthman most strongly of F-16 Fighting Falcons once used by his native United States Navy and Air Force. Those low-altitude craft seemed as natural as birds in the sky the same way Vipers shot across space like shooting stars; both seemed as though they belonged there and were obviously built for speed and maneuverability. The also had a certain grace. Raiders, on the other hand, much like their mother ship, seemed crafted to intimidate. They had a sleekness all their own, but they were not nearly as quick or maneuverable, Their superiority resulted from the segregation of duties that came along with a crew of three rather than a singular pilot responsible for flying and fighting at the same time. Admittedly it wasn't an easy thing to do; Byrne himself had started his career toward the end of the F-14 program and had been spoiled early on with the presence of a RIO, or Radar Intercept Officer. The Cylon craft had a pilot, a gunner and a commander, or rather Flight Leader, who acted as a combination communications officer and RIO. Where the rebel pilots seemed, according to _Galactica's _crew, to be much better pilots, other Cylons they'd flown against were downright lazy, successful in battle only when they could overwhelm their opponents with numbers or surprise.

Although the Earth warrior was, admittedly, lacking in experience dealing with cybernetic beings he'd spent enough time examining the history of Colonial-Cylon relations, as well as being regaled by stories of warriors like Starbuck who'd gotten 'up close and personal' with the mechanized soldiers to realize that these 'Centurions' were on or near the bottom layer of the rigidly maintained class pyramid in Cylon society and that the higher level cyborgs kept them on a tight leash. It reminded the Earthman of the classic Schwarzenneger film, _The Terminator_, where the self-aware supercomputer 'Skynet' kept its minions controlled by preventing the neural-net processors — or brains — in the mechanized soldiers from "reading" unless their chips were manually reset. He wondered if something had caused these particular Cylons to flip their proverbial switches and realize that their masters were bad folks, interested only in using, and if need be, throwing them away, to achieve their goals. Were he being honest he was looking forward to getting the chance to interact with the machines in question.

He was lost in these thoughts when he felt Lydia tugging at his arm, bringing him back to reality.

_Or is she pulling at my leash, like a dog_. It wasn't the first time he'd wondered.

Following, the two of them were met by Commander Adama as they came around the platform to the stairs that descended back to the main level.

"Captain Byrne, Madam Vice-President," the silver-haired Commander greeted.

Byrne took some satisfaction in the greeting; he knew that Lydia cared little for being referred to as "Madam" Vice-President, though the title was technically correct. He suspected that the Commander took some delight in being able to refer to her by what, in her mind, was a much less extravagant title.

"Your pilots are outstanding, Commander," Byrne offered. "It was another fine display of teamwork with our… allies."

"It is becoming ever more 'normal,' I admit, though seeing Cylons operate with such precision is something I'm not used to," Adama admitted. "Would you call the Council into session, Madam Vice-President?"

"Why?" Lydia asked.

"There were matters discussed after our combined strategy session was adjourned that I believe require Council deliberation," Adama replied.

"What sort of matters?"

"Matters involving the détente," Adama said.

His vague responses were causing Lydia to react subtly yet visibly; the slight furl of her brow as well as the tightening of her jaw were all indicators Byrne had picked up on during their brief… Could he even call this a relationship?

"That is primarily a military matter, _Commander_," she shot back, her use of his rank rather than his political office obviously meant in a derogatory way, though even Byrne realized she should have known better than to think he would take it as such. "Perhaps it would be better if I were to relay your concerns to our fellow Councilors individually," she offered, attempting to soften her stance.

Again, she should have known better than to expect the Colonial President to fall for it.

"I'm afraid not. This matter will require a full debate, as well as time for individual Councilors to bring the issue to their respective constituencies. I would like the Council to be convened within the centar," he said with finality.

Lydia made no verbal response, but simply bowed in deference.

Adama returned the gesture, and then excused himself.

_"By your command,"_ she said, almost silently.

But Byrne caught it.


	4. Chapter 3

3

* * *

"And so, my fellow council members, that is the extent of it," Adama said, having laid out a preliminary proposal for making a formal request for aid to the crew of the rebel Base Ship; he'd carefully avoided any reference to Baltar lest it be construed as a request for aid from him.

For several moments the various members of the Council, just over half of them new to their offices, considered what their President had just proposed. Each of them had a similar look on their face – a look that reflected Adama's own. They all, save Lydia, knew that making such a request of an "ally" was not only necessary but proper given the resources of said ally and the fact that they were in a state of Alert, but that made it no easier given that the ally in question was part of a race they'd been at war with for a millennium.

What was already clear, from the fact that after several tenuous microns there hadn't been an angry outburst from at least three of them – in the past it would have been Domra, Gellar and either Uri in his time or more recently Lydia, while Antipas would have been waiting patiently for the entire episode to play out only to speak up as a voice of "reason" afterward – was that the general attitude of vigilant cautiousness regarding the détente had given way to something that was becoming more evident throughout the fleet: curiosity.

Aside from Lydia, who was still seething over being asked to call the Council into session, the suggestion of Cylons mixing with the general population of the fleet wasn't shocking to these newly elected Councilors, though all of them seemed to be waiting for another to either second the motion or offer an objection.

Lest she be the first, Adama added, "I know even the suggestion of such a thing has the potential to be viewed… negatively by our civilian population, which is why I chose to bring it before you now even though we are currently in a state of emergency. The previous Council gave me great leeway in matters military, but I would consider it a great disrespect to the Articles of Colonization and the trust placed in me by those former members of this body _and _the people of the Twelve Colonies were I to treat this as any other issue of military necessity. A decision of this… magnitude should be debated by our people and we as their representatives should act in accord with their will."

"What assurances do we, and the people, have that the decision of the Council will be respected?" This came from the newly-elected Sagittarian representative – Galarius.

Tinia rose to her feet, beating Adama to a reply; "Commander… _President _Adama has _always_ abided by the decisions of the Council, Sire Galarius. I know from personal experience that it has, unfortunately, sometimes been the Council that has been guilty of attempting to undermine _him_."

Equally surprised at the breach of Parliamentary procedure _and_ appreciative of the support, Adama turned to the Virgonese Siress and smiled. She still felt shame over her role in the events that led to Commandant Leiter's Eastern Alliance forces, along with Baltar and the Borellian Nomen, taking the Council hostage.

"Precisely my point, Siress Tinia," Galarius continued. "Public opinion has tilted heavily in our esteemed President's favor due to the less than savory actions of certain members of this body – former _and _current," he said, gesturing with a sweeping motion of his arm that circled the Council table but stopped with him indicating Lydia.

She didn't fail to notice.

"We have a duty to the people whom we represent, yes, but our republican system makes us answerable not just to our constituents but to our consciences. I do not mean to impugn you, Mister President, for I know your favor with the people is more than deserved, but I would be remiss in my duty were I not to point out that the wisest of men is still a man – and fallible."

"You won the election, Galarius," this came from the first-term representative of Gemini, Xavier. "You needn't continue your campaign at the Council table."

"Gentlemen," Adama intervened, after a few moments of quiet laughter tittered around the table, "I appreciate your enthusiasm, as well as your respect for the duty placed upon us as representatives of the people, but I would ask that you show the same respect for our procedures and your fellow Councilors. You all will have your chance to speak your mind and vote your conscience."

"Apologies, Mister President," Xavier replied, smiling warmly.

Or, Adama thought, as warmly as possible given the scar tissue across the right side of his face. A former Warrior and pilot with the rank of Lieutenant, he'd sustained injuries so grievous in nature they'd have killed most men. His Viper had taken a direct hit that would have destroyed it had it impacted only slightly to the left, but instead ruptured an oxygen supply line in his life support system. For one brief but torturous moment his cockpit was aflame; though the majority of his body was protected by the fire-resistant materials of his uniform, his face and hands were instantly scorched. In his release evaluation he would relate that he only saw the briefest flash of fire – the ship's internal suppression system hadn't been damaged – which he initially mistook for a passing laser blast and that he didn't realize until he woke up sealed in a pressurized life-pod that the majority of his face had been seared off. From afar it looked as though the man had simply spent a bit too much time under the Skorpian sun without solar-block; it was only when he attempted certain facial expressions was it evident that there was underlying nerve and muscle damage beneath the extensive surgical reconstruction. Seeing as how the tissue had been charred practically down to the bone, it was an amazing testimonial to medical science that he still had a face at all.

"And I as well, Mister President," Galarius added, "but I believe it bears repeating that there is always – even in the most noble of men, which you more than most of those of our race who remain most certainly are – the potential for… expediency in bureaucratic matters, shall we say. Our people exist in a state of affairs inflicted on them by bureaucratic maneuvering – by the former occupant of your chair, no less – aimed at circumventing the authority of this Council. No one is more cognizant of this than you, sir."

Adama nodded, keeping his expression neutral. He was aware that Galarius, a long time student of bureaucratic theory groomed for bureaucracy from his youth – as well as an advocate of _austerely _conservative interpretations of Colonial Law and _The Book of the Word_, was not speaking this way to insult him, but as a sincere believer in the rule of law. It was a position Adama respected; indeed he held the same beliefs regarding every President he'd served under, even the idealistically trusting and misguided Adar. In light of the recent assault on his character by Technician Aldebaran, however, the comments stung in a way they would not have before.

"Sire Pelias," he indicated the young heir of Sire Feo, who would have been next in line to speak had both Galarius and Xavier not beaten him to the punch.

"While we're all aware of the gravity of the situation, Commander," he said preferring, as a former Warrior, to use Adama's rank rather than bureaucratic title, "and are aware of how much more… efficient it would be to refit our ships with the help of the Cylons, would _they_ actually be receptive to such a request?"

"Receptive?" Adama asked.

"Recall Baltar's comments from when the Base Ship first joined the Fleet; he made it clear that the treatment of the Centurion class at the hands of these more highly developed Cylon models called 'I-Ls' factored heavily into their decision to defect. He also stated that using their cybernetic abilities to, what was it he said, '…send them out on the so-called "difficult" jobs?' would not 'set the right tone' with them."

Xavier raised his hand, indicating that he desired to respond. Noting that he was following the proper procedure, Adama nodded his consent.

"Have not the Cylons themselves expressed a greater desire to be of service to the fleet? I've been informed by more than one Warrior that they've heard these comments directly from the Centurions. Comments made by their Commander – their _Centurion_ Commander – to Colonel Tigh, which are public record, indicate the same. If their desire to be of service is sincere, why would a request for their help _not _set the right tone with them?"

"Have we all gone somewhat mad?" This came from Sire Chan, who, unlike the freshman Xavier decided to break protocol.

"Sire Chan, my rebuke of our newest members for speaking out of turn was not limited to them," Adama said.

"Felgercarb, Adama!"

"Chan, you forget decorum!" This came from Tinia.

"To Hades Hole with decorum, Tinia, we are talking about allowing members of the race that is our most despised enemy access to civilian ships! Those ships are all that our people have to call their own until we find Earth! If the detente has, as some still believe, been a ruse to destroy us from within, mixing them with the civilian population could be the act that brings about our _complete _destruction!"

"As _some _still believe?" Adama repeated.

"I've seen more than enough in the time the Cylons have been part of the Fleet to realize that there is more to these rebels than meets the eye. I too am aware of the fact that many of our number have ceased fearing these beings and become curious about them. I will confess myself to also being curious in some measure. But there are questions in the minds of each of our citizens and each of _us_ that have yet to be asked, let alone answered. _Some _find that state of affairs to be intolerable. While I'm obligated to be the voice of my constituents our young friend Galarius pointed out we also have a duty to our consciences. Mine is screaming to me at this very moment, fellow Councilors! It's telling me that we simply don't know enough about these rebel Cylons to merge them into our populations yet!"

The comment about "some" believing that the détente' was a ruse resonated in Adama's mind. It wasn't that the comment couldn't possibly have merit – indeed the Commander had, himself, lost a night's sleep more than once at the thought of the rebel Cylons turning on them. But from moment one, they'd been as good as their word. Lately he'd rebuked himself more than once for thinking the worst. Why was Chan suddenly trying to plant a seed of mistrust?

"Mister President?" Tinia asked.

"Siress Tinia," Adama replied, readjusting his focus.

"Sire Chan, no one is suggesting that the Cylon crew be "merged" with our population."

"I'm aware, Siress Tinia that it's not being phrased that way. I'm speaking to the reality of the situation. It's been more than a quarter of a yahren since the Base Ship has been a part of the fleet, and our peoples' desire to learn more about these Cylons is growing. We develop more military links with them with each passing cycle. Baltar himself indicated that members of his crew desired to interact with our people. How long will both our population _and _theirs tolerate this state of isolation? Cylons working alongside not just Warriors but civilian technicians and even training prospective civilian technicians seems like a small matter, but it could very well be the first step toward making these Cylons a full part of Colonial society! At some point they could become cybernetic citizens with a representative on the Council! It was hard enough for most of us to conceive of joining with a thirteenth tribe; in essence they would become a fourteenth!"

"You sound like a man afraid of change, Sire Chan," Xavier quipped. "It was my understanding that with this new Council there would be new thinking geared toward our present circumstances as opposed to our former."

"I'm afraid, _Councilor _Xavier," he said, making a point of emphasizing Xavier's lack of noble status, "of the potential for rebellion from within our own ranks and the destruction of what remains of our civilization!"

Adama felt compelled to again urge his fellow Council members to speak in turn, but as it had done no good so far – and he suddenly realized he shouldn't have expected it to under the circumstances – he let the two men continue. He couldn't help but notice the way Chan seemed to miss how he'd just made Xavier's point for him by speaking condescendingly of his lack of title.

"What remains of our civilization, _Sire _Chan, is two-hundred and twenty some ships, more than half of which have little or no defensive capabilities, a third of which were well beyond their 'useful' life before this journey ever began and just under one hundred thousand people – a pitiful remnant of the forty-billion strong we were the morning of the Destruction. We've not only recovered, but have prospered since this journey started, making some allies, including this rebel faction of our ancient foe. We've acquired new technology and we've seen signs that our flight across the stars hasn't been in vain. But we are, as this situation proves, still vulnerable. We are a nation without a world to call our own; in a very real sense we _are not_ a civilization anymore – we're a _gang_ and we're on the run. The prior Council recognized that when they rescinded their edict ending martial law during the hostage crisis. _We _must recognize the wisdom of that thinking."

"Again, fellow Councilors, that assumes that the Cylons are willing to offer their assistance," Pelias reiterated.

"And it assumes that the civilian Captains and the populations of the various ships allow them to board," Lydia said, speaking for the first time.

"Siress Lydia?" Adama asked.

"Sire Chan makes a valid point about the potential fracturing of the Fleet. What if a number of ships refuse to allow the Cylons aboard? How would our Warriors react were civilians to take up arms to stop the process? Our peoples' perception of the détente has reached a state of guarded optimism; what would happen were they to see Humans firing on other Humans in support of Cylons? And how would the Cylons perceive such an action?"

"That sounds something like wishful thinking, Siress Lydia," Xavier said, causing a murmur to erupt among the so-far silent members of the Council, and an angry scoff from Chan. "Is it the wish of the people of Aries that the détente be undone or just yours?"

Lydia turned an angry glare on the Gemonese Councilor, but before she could launch an angry rebuttal, Adama stood.

"Councilor Xavier, such talk is _not _appropriate in open Council. We may disagree with each other's positions, but casting such an aspersion on _any_ member of this body will not be tolerated," he said forcefully, in the manner of a superior officer speaking to a subordinate whose talk was borderline insubordinate; he hoped it would be something Xavier would respect and appreciate.

"My apologies, Commander, fellow Councilors, _Siress _Lydia, for framing those comments so harshly, but I believe my overall point stands. If it is the desire of members of the Council that we sever ties with the Base Ship let those Councilors put that suggestion before their people for debate _after _we've dealt with the pirate threat that's keeping us from moving forward. If it be the will of the people, there are means for us to amicably go our way without the Cylons. Our comments here are a matter of public record, and the IFB has been diligent in gauging public perception of the Cylon presence. To my knowledge there has been no suggestion of a ship or a group of ships going off on their own in opposition to the détente – until just this moment. Our esteemed Vice President should realize the weight her words carry."

"That sounds something like an accusation that I'm fomenting a rebellion; such an accusation would be libelous, Xavier," Lydia shot back, her words carefully guarded so as not to convey the full fury that was evident on the woman's face.

"It would not be libelous if it were true," Sire Elegabalus of Cancera quipped, louder than he intended.

"See here!" Chan exclaimed.

Having heard enough, Adama stood again, and made a point of bringing down his gavel with more force than he could remember using in any prior Council session.

"We will have order, Councilors!"

All conversation ceased and the eyes of every member focused on the President.

"I was under the impression that we all recognized the severity of the current threat and the importance of the will of our people in making this decision; apparently I was wrong."

"Adama!" Chan exclaimed, but was quickly rebuffed.

"I said we will have order," Adama replied, firmly. "And when we have order we speak in turn."

Lydia scoffed.

Adama ignored it.

"It's clear that the question of how to proceed is a divisive one. Our role is not to add to that divisiveness, but to act as voices of reason. If we cannot speak reasonably with one another, then we may as well table the motion," he said.

"Tabling the motion only removes it from Council debate; you've made the point that asking for Cylon help is an issue of military necessity; you are free to move ahead in your capacity as Fleet Commander without Council or popular approval," Galarius stated.

"That is not an option, Sire Galarius. I would not ask our population to accept so radical a solution to our current problem without giving them the chance to voice their concerns or allowing an open council vote."

"And if these pirate forces launch an all-out assault on the fleet?" Xavier asked.

"I am not saying that we are going to table the motion, Councilor Xavier. I am saying that we need to separate reason from emotion and comport ourselves in a manner worthy of our position. So far we've not directly encountered any pirates. That could, of course, change in an instant. Our people are aware of this and I believe they need to be made aware that solving this problem – as well as other long term problems – may require a radical departure from convention. Hasn't the détente itself been a radical departure from convention? Had the decision to accept Baltar's terms not been made many lives would have been lost. I realize that Cylons walking amongst our civilians – our children and families – is a radical notion, which is why I've brought this issue before you. I encourage you to consider my words carefully."

Ten Councilors to one degree or another relaxed in their chairs and silently let the words of the President sink in; Lydia, for her part, continued to seethe. Adama knew that tempers were flaring, but that aside from the Aerian Siress the importance of handling this correctly was more important to all of them than the few ill-spoken comments they'd all just heard.

Surprisingly, it was Tinia who asked to be recognized next, which Adama allowed.

"I suggest we take a brief recess. Let's step away from the table and the public record and confer privately; fifteen centons?"

"Are there any objections?" Adama asked.

When none were offered, he added, "We shall reconvene in fifteen centons at which time we will cast a vote to either bring this issue up for public debate or table it indefinitely. Let it be known that whether the motion is tabled or passed and later rejected by the people, no decision will be made under military necessity to circumvent the will of the people or the decision of this Council." Finished, he gaveled the session to dismissal.

* * *

Chan was the first one to take his leave, not sparing a look for any of his fellow members as he made for the exit hatch. Galarius was the next to make his move, and he was followed by the group of the first-term Councilors save Xavier. Tinia, not wanting to leave Adama alone with either Xavier or Lydia hesitated, but it was clear that neither of them were moving. Adama gave her the smallest of smiles, his cue that she didn't need to stay behind for his benefit. She stood and, as she moved to exit the chamber, placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.

When Xavier finally stood up, Lydia moved to block his path.

"Who do you think you are to level such a charge against me?"

"A member of the Council of Twelve – a duly elected one – speaking his conscience, _Siress_," he replied.

On the one hand it was refreshing to see Lydia openly challenged. Her recent history had been filled with so many instances of bullying her way to the top – first in her one-sided relationship with Antipas before the Libran's disgrace and then in the way she'd pressured Adama into making her Council Vice-President.

On the other hand it was disturbing to see a newly elected Councilor – one lacking in nobility at that – challenge her so easily. Just who was this mysterious former Warrior and businessman that he could stand up to an upper-class woman with Lydia's background and _not _be taken in by her obvious physical charms the way Antipas and Captain Byrne had?

"I stand by my earlier comments, Councilor Xavier," Adama interjected. "I appreciate your enthusiasm for your new position, but your comments were out of line, in open session that is."

"_Only _in open session?" Lydia asked.

"Councilor Xavier, would you excuse us for a moment?" Adama asked.

The younger man smiled; Adama noticed when standing up close that it seemed to pain him to do so.

"Commander, _Siress_," he said, bowing slightly to the Aerian and with more reverence for Adama.

When he was gone, Adama turned back to Lydia.

"What is the old expression about people who live in glass houses?"

"Spare me the lecture, Adama. You wouldn't tolerate such an accusation against any other member of this body!"

"No other member of the body responds to my requests with the phrase, 'By your command.'"

Lydia's eyes widened at the statement; how had he heard?

"I see by your reaction that it _wasn't _my ears playing tricks on me. It's good to know that in my advancing yahrens they're still trustworthy. Might I ask what you think you have to gain by planting seeds of doubt among the people about the détente? Are there not enough issues facing our people that you would create one where none exists simply to expand your own bureaucratic fortune?"

"That is a despicable accusation!"

"Is it?"

"You made it clear in session that you realize how divisive this decision could potentially be. Tell me, Adama, did you choose to bring a motion before the Council to avoid any appearance of misusing your authority as Commander of the Fleet? Or were you planning to pass the blame onto us were the experiment to be a failure?"

"You speak of despicable accusations, Lydia. Do you honestly believe I would play so fast and loose with the lives of what remains of Colonial civilization?" He glared at her a long moment. "We've lost so many as it is!"

"What I believe is of no account; what matters is what the people believe, _or _what they can be convinced of."

She was baiting him, he knew; he wasn't going to be hooked.

"How much do you know about my son, Siress Lydia?"

"Captain Apollo has nothing to do with this, Adama!"

"On the contrary; again, how much do you know about him?"

"Your son's reputation as a Warrior is not exactly classified information," she said sarcastically.

"Then you should know something of what he's gone through _personally_ as well," Adama retorted.

"I am aware of all _that _too, Adama!" She shot back, not giving an inch. "I'm well aware that he was married to Serina, and that she lost her life when she gave up journalism to become a Warrior. Now that I'm Vice-President I don't exactly let myself go walking in a sea of ignorance concerning my fellow members, least of all you and your own family!"

And yet she'd seemingly been blindsided by Xavier.

"No, I guess you wouldn't," Adama replied, not allowing himself to vocalize his thoughts. "If you're aware of all that my family has gone through, you would know that neither Apollo nor I have any reason to instinctively trust the Cylons."

"Oh, that I can be sure of, Adama," she replied smugly. "After all, until I made you realize that it was Gellar and not Antipas that was the Cylon mole you were prepared to disregard Baltar's offer to defect!"

"Point taken," he conceded, since her role in the affair was the sole reason she was now Vice-President. He wondered how long she planned to hold that over his head. "Keeping that in mind, you should at least be convinced that my intentions are rooted strictly in my belief that the rule of law must prevail. The _people _will make this decision – not me, and _not _the Council."

Her eyes narrowed as she fixed an uneasy stare on him. "Is there something else you haven't told me?"

"Yes," he pressed ahead. "My son, who by your own admission has suffered as much if not more than I have because of the Cylons, made an impassioned plea for me to bypass the Council and act on this as a matter of military necessity. That should tell you a great deal, for he was willing to look at the merits of this issue as something vital to the well-being of our people, even to the point where they must be spared from making the decision."

"And you rejected his counsel because of your… concern for protocol?"

"For our most solemn traditions, which make us great as a people, Siress Lydia," he replied. "You've been a member of the Council long enough to recall how this is not the first time I've insisted on standing up for what those traditions mean, _even _when the result is something I find personally distasteful. If that were not so I would have gone back on my original promise to release Baltar from the Prison Barge."

Lydia moved to respond, but stopped short of speaking. She exhaled, slowly, and turned to face the massive viewport beyond the Council table. A tense moment of silence hung between them before she finally turned back to face him.

"As young Galarius brought out, we would be remiss in our duties not to assure ourselves, to the highest degree possible, that our motives – and the motives of our fellow Council members – were honorable."

"Indeed," Adama replied, amused that she was using such a tactic to back out of the conversation.

She bowed, with much the same fanfare Xavier had when he'd regarded him moments earlier, and left him alone in the Council chamber.

* * *

"Don't get all defensive! You brought it on yourself!" Cedric Robert Allen, Jr. – "Ced" to those closest to him, "Allen" to the casual Colonial acquaintance who just couldn't grasp the concept of Humans having both given and familial names, ex-Commander in the Royal Australian Navy, nuclear engineer and one-time mission specialist assigned to the Earth ship _Saint Brendan _said as he refilled his friend's glass with the fine liquor the Colonials called "ambrosia" both men had acquired a taste for.

Byrne laughed. "It had to be you. More than a dozen crew members on the _Cabrillo _and the _Saint Brendan_, and it just had to be _you _that survived to be the bane of my existence."

"Nah, mate, it's that woman that's the bane of your existence,"

"Ced-"

"I could have fixed you up with any of a hundred Malaabian slave girls, but _you_ just had to hook up with Queen Taramis!"

"What do you want me to say? You want me to admit it? Fine, I admit it – sometimes I don't know why I bother with her," the newly minted Colonial Captain Byrne admitted.

"C'mon, Kev – it's bloody obvious! You were stranded on a planet with no one but your daughter for companionship for how many years? And let's be brutally honest: you're no Cedric Robert Allen, Jr., but you're a handsome guy in your own right – for a Yank, that is. You're quite the looker even among these 70s-retro hair-styled Colonials, and a curiosity of the 'fabled Thirteenth Tribe' at that. It's not surprising one of them took a liking to you. And a woman who's a dead ringer for Sarah Douglas in her prime isn't a bad thing to have, even if she's meaner than Queen Taramis and Ursa combined. The fact that you have suspicions about her, though, well… you've been around the block more than enough times, even if you are randier than a polecat with three balls. When your gut is telling you a woman is wrong for you, it's best to listen. You would have _never _had suspicions like this about Genesis, and you know it. I'm telling you, old friend, that woman is all wrong for you."

The two of them were the only occupants of the officers club as every Warrior was currently on alert or on standby and restricted to quarters. The bartender had, generously, left them a more than ample supply of ambrosia, even though they were both holding back as they didn't want to show up drunk to their briefing with the Commander – which was scheduled for after the Council session.

The problem was that there was no definite time for the Council session to end – likely due to the fact that the politicking, or whatever they called it here – bureauticking? – could, due to the subject-matter, last the remainder of the cycle. Barring an alert the Commander and President of the Colonies could find himself facing a U.S. Senate-style filibuster.

"You're not the only one who thinks so, Ced," Byrne replied. "Jen has been… _reluctant_ to embrace her."

"You have a gift for understatement! And when did you start talking that way? The Kevin Byrne I know says what he means! Your Genesis _despises _her, and with good reason!"

Byrne sighed before taking the slightest of sips from his glass.

"Some of us weren't as lucky as to be stranded somewhere with a lot of options, old friend," he shot back.

"I wouldn't go that far, mate. Sure there were a lot of options, but not many of them were very good."

"It seems you found the one that _was_."

"God loves the Outback," Allen quipped. "And of course we Aussies are a blessed bunch of folks. But we're getting off topic."

"You think I'm so enthralled with the packaging that I don't see what lies beneath? Trust me, I'm well aware of how crafty and… ambitious she is. She wants to take Adama's place on the Council. 'A blind man could see it,' " he quipped in his best impression of George C. Scott.

"And what about his place on the Bridge, mate? I've learned a few things since joining up with this little wagon train from the stars and I know this strain of the Human family lives just a wee bit longer than we do, but even still Adama is up there in the years. Past their usual retirement age, from what I hear. You think she's gonna be satisfied with pushing him off of the Council? She's eventually gonna want a Commander she can control. That's not _you_. You might be a fine distraction until she finds the next military leader of the fleet, but when she does-"

"She'll be out the door before I can blink. Yes, I know!"

"Just like…uh, never mind."

"Yeah, I know," said Byrne, a bit placidly. "Just like Diane."


	5. Chapter 4

4

* * *

Colonel Tigh wasn't the type of man who liked to let his mind wander, especially at a time like this when activity could shift from deadly calm to chaotic in a micron, but he couldn't help but think about the events of their first encounter with the Ziklagi, – nearly a yahren ago now – at Boron-Din. To keep from slipping too far into his own mind, he made his way around the rotating command platform to the station of Flight Corporal Rigel. It was she who'd first noticed a series of 'transient radion spikes' during the near-disaster on the Agroship which had ultimately led the Fleet to Boron-Din. It was her quick, outside-the-box thinking that helped identify the cloaking technology in the first place.

"Anything to report, Rigel?"

"Our forward patrol passed the point of being able to send voice or data transmissions thirteen centons ago," she replied morosely. With the _Galactica _at a standstill and the patrol continuing to move further away the only contact they'd have with them was on their return or if one of the ships activated its long-range emergency beacon. "Also, I've analyzed the data from the Cylon patrol and matched the radion and x-ray signatures to records of our first encounter with people using the technology," the young enlistee continued. "The readings were almost identical, but there have been no signs of cloaked vessels since we arrived in the vicinity of the nebula; its particular particle emissions are making our job easy."

"And our perimeter patrols?"

"At last check the _Century _had nothing to report while the fighter patrol consisting of Lieutenants Dietra and Bree, and Flight Leaders Hyperion and Skiron..."

"Hyperion?"

"Yes sir; I believe that's in reference to the Hyperion Valley on Tarses."

Tarses was, of course, one of the moons of Tigh's home colony of Virgon; it was habitable, but cold and mountainous. Though secretly used for military training its primary use had been as a furlon destination for people who enjoyed cold-weather sports. The Hyperion Valley was known for its many trails dedicated to ice-sledding, a high-speed, high-risk 'sport' that utilized powered snow-turbines.

Tigh thought it should have been outlawed.

"Sergeant Cree?" he asked, knowing the young Warrior was the only aficionado of the sport in the ranks. It was indicative that the young man wasn't letting his experience as a Cylon prisoner keep him from making the best of their current situation.

"From what I understand, sir," Rigel replied with a slight smile.

"Very well; and 'Skiron'?"

"I'm not sure about that one, sir. The patrol reported no contact with alien craft but did report radion fluctuations consistent with the use of a cloaking device."

"You say a fluctuation, not a spike – and not an actual ship?"

"No sir."

"How do these 'fluctuations' compare to the radion spikes we've seen before?"

"According to Dr. Wilker the spikes we recorded when we first encountered the N'Glak were a result of their ship's cloaking field colliding with the magnetic field generated by _Agroship One's _energizer. The enemy ship had to be that close to use its teleporter. Our re-tuned scanners can detect the emissions and give us a rough sensor image of the ship based on the outline of its cloaking field, but these fluctuations are too weak."

"The pirates are out of the patrol's scanner range, but only just," Tigh offered. "They're looking for an opening. Has the BaseShip received this telemetry?"

"Actually, sir, I'm coordinating _with_ my counterpart on the Base Ship."

"I see. And conditions in the landing bay?"

"Silver Spar Squadron continues to be at launch readiness."

"Excellent. Stay vigilant, Corporal," Tigh encouraged. "Sound the alert, but don't wait for authorization from me if one of those 'fluctuations' becomes more than a blip on our scanners. Give the order."

"Affirmative, Colonel."

* * *

"At this time, Commander… sorry, _Mister President_," Xavier corrected, sparing a glance at Chan who had, during the recess, given both he and Pelias a terse reminder that Council protocol required Adama be addressed by his bureaucratic title as opposed to military rank and cautioned them both about their susceptibility to 'hero worship' where he was concerned because of their experience as warriors; the response from Pelias once the older Councilor was out of earshot was less than noble. "I would like to attach a motion to the proposal already on the table that the Council vote immediately rather than putting the issue before the people."

The feeling Adama had just before calling for recess, the one where he believed the weight of the worlds he'd been carrying on his shoulders finally overwhelmed him, was even more powerful than it had been centons earlier.

As expected, the majority of the Council added their own reactions before Adama could recognize them.

"This is madness, Xavier!" Chan exclaimed.

"This is bureaucracy, Chan," Elegabalus offered evenly, "as it has been throughout Colonial history."

"I support the Comm- President's decision to bring this issue before the Council rather than taking action in line with his military authority," Pelias said, trying to keep the Council's focus on debating the issue, "But I have to agree with Councilor Xavier; we simply don't have the time to put this question before the people."

"You would not be so quick to support the motion, Pelias, nor would you be so quick to offer it, Xavier, were either of you subject to recall by your electorate," the representative of Piscera – Count Mikkos – countered, speaking for the first time.

"Astonishing," Lydia remarked. "A noble representative of Piscera is more interested in holding on to power rather than the security of the people. Perhaps when you're recalled the people should call on Baltar to represent them again."

Mikkos laughed heartily – in a way all too reminiscent of the Baltar of old. "Although his amnesty _does _make him eligible to serve on the Council once again, I don't believe I have much to worry about on that score, Madame _Vice-_President."

Not a single member missed the way Lydia's nostrils flared at the emphasis Mikkos placed on the word, 'Vice.'

"Enough of this bureaucratic squabbling!" Xavier exclaimed with more force than Adama could remember being expressed at the table at any time in memory. "Put away your banter for another time!" Then he turned his attention to Adama. "As young Sire Pelias so aptly put, Mister President, your desire to give the people the chance to make this decision is admirable, but I believe misguided."

"This is not a dictatorship, Councilor Xavier. Even the Martial Law Protocols describe precisely delineated boundaries for government action!"

"Precisely my point, Mister President; this is a _representative_ republic. Your motive in bringing this most serious matter before the people for a popular vote is beyond question. With no disrespect intended, I'm surprised by this body's lack of understanding of its duties!"

"You have some audacity," Chan interjected. "Here you sit not a sectar into your term passing judgment on the rest of us! You're not the first upstart to think that he can change the worlds simply by being elected to this Council!"

"For better or worse-" Xavier continued, ignoring Chan's goading and keeping his focus on Adama, "-each of us has been elected by the people of our various Colonies to make such difficult decisions. I appreciate the social upheaval this decision _could _lead to, but I believe that the possibility of such change is outweighed by our responsibility to preserve what remains of our people. I'll admit that I'm skeptical that humans and Cylons can live in peace for the long term, but… I know this may sound condescending as, with the exception of Pelias, I'm the youngest member of the Council, but if it is the will of the Lords that there be a new… understanding... between ourselves and our old adversaries it will be _our _generation that will have the hardest time living with it. As for changing the worlds, Sire Chan, it seems you don't see that change is happening right in front of your face. _That _is to your own discredit. We will, however, only survive _if _we survive. As distasteful as it may be, asking for their assistance may be a matter of life and death for the remnants of Colonial civilization. I would not want history – if there _is _any – to remember us as the last Council of the Twelve, the one that met its end bickering at the table instead of taking necessary action. I'm also willing to go on record, publicly, as the sponsor of the motion, and-" Turning to Count Mikkos, "-I would gladly step down as the representative of Gemon if by popular vote they declare this motion so abhorrent that I cannot be allowed to sit at this table."

For several centons the chamber was silent – much to Adama's amazement – as each member, for one reason or another, seemed especially mystified by Xavier's words. He had to admit, the Gemonese man had both bureaucratic will and charisma. For the most part the Council seemed open to his suggestion, which bothered Adama greatly as he truly believed the people should make this decision. He'd not expected this turn of events, and he couldn't simply refuse the freshman Councilor his vote. If the majority of the Council voted to amend the motion, it would have to be.

"Do we have a second?" Adama asked, finally.

A tense micron later, Pelias stood. "I second the motion."

Reluctantly, Adama asked, "All in favor?"

Slowly the members started to rise, with the final holdouts being Tinia, Galarius and Mikkos. The only one not to rise in support was, unsurprisingly, Lydia.

"All opposed?"

"I remain opposed to the entire notion," Lydia said, not bothering to stand or to look at Adama or any other member. "However, in the interest of not being a lone objector and standing in the way of… necessary action, I choose to abstain from the vote entirely rather than be the sole voice of objection."

Again, Count Mikkos laughed in a way that sent chills down Adama's spine. "So the old adage is true – give a bureautician enough time and eventually they'll tell the truth, even if it's by accident. You don't want to face the consequences of this vote on Election Cycle, which is why you would rather there be a popular vote."

Lydia seethed, and turned to Adama.

"Count Mikkos!"

"Apologies, Mister President, for speaking out of turn and for that… comment. I should know better; do strike that from the record, will you?"

"I've given all of you a great deal of leeway due to the unusual nature of this debate; I will not abide another ad hominem attack – no matter how vaguely worded – by any member on any member of this Council, nor will I tolerate another instance of a member speaking out of turn! Frankly, you should all be embarrassed by your behavior this Cycle! Now, as to the matter of the vote just taken, the motion is adopted. The proposal is hereby amended; the final decision will remain in Council rather than be put before the people for a popular vote. In the interest of not dragging this unpleasantness, or giving any of you the opportunity to disgrace the honor of this body or your personal position, let us vote on the proposal as amended. Shall we, the honorable – and in this instance I use that term _very _loosely – representatives of the Twelve Colonies here united, request technical assistance from the Cylons and grant them limited access to civilian ships of the fleet should they respond positively?"

Xavier stood, without hesitation. A micron later he was followed by Pelias. Then, one by one, the rest of the Council joined them. Again, the last to rise were Tinia, Galarius and Mikkos while Lydia, again, remained seated.

"The motion is carried," he said slowly.

_Damn.

* * *

_

_Don't think about it._

_ Don't think about it!_

_ Don't fracking think about it!_

His thumb caressed the firing stud ever so slightly as temptation flirted with him. It would be easy – so very easy – to blow them both out of the stars, tucked in as they were in formation behind them. Boomer might not like it – he'd hate it, actually – but he'd go along with it.

_Wouldn't he?_

He'd have to. Yes, he'd go along with it. He'd sign off on the report that they were surprised by a pirate attack. A ship de-cloaked directly aft of them – in perfect position to record a kill. The two Vipers, their pilots quicker to react than their Cylon… allies… simply evaded the killshots.

'Unfortunately' the pilots of the Raiders hadn't been so quick to respond. What a damn shame.

What would Adama care? Hades hole, what would _Baltar _care? His crew – are they even programmed to care about each other? - would just build six new Centurions and program them with basic piloting skills. Their onboard assembly plants would fire two new Raiders off the assembly line before he finished his first drink in the officers' club. No significant questions would be asked and no one would be the wiser.

So why couldn't he move his thumb? All he had to do was press down on the trigger. He wanted to more than anything, but for some reason he couldn't will the muscles in his hand to move.

_Do I _really _want to end up like Mattoon?_

"All craft prepare to drop to subluminal velocity for scanning pass through target system," the voice of a Centurion – Starbuck had no idea which – droned through his right earpiece.

"Affirmative, Patrol Leader," a different, slightly lower pitched Centurion voice replied through his left.

_Since when does the pitch of their voices vary?_

"Red Leader acknowledges," Boomer added to the litany of comments.

Not wanting to let Boomer or the Cylons know how unfocused he actually was, Starbuck quickly added, "Red Two acknowledges."

Despite his dark thoughts his training kicked in. Without really thinking about it, in turn with the other ships in their neat formation, he cut his turbos as the system's single planet became more than another point of light in his canopy.

By predetermined agreement he and the crew of the Raider directly in front of him – Commanded by 'Flight Leader Cyrus,' who he imagined was the second, lower-pitched voice he'd just heard – would be responsible for a sweep of the planet and the surrounding airspace itself. All communication with that ship was present in the left channel of his audio array. Boomer and the other Raider would at the same time sweep the planet's three moons and an orbiting asteroid field which they believed had once been a fourth. Their communications came through the right side. The Raiders, with their more specialized scanners would watch for signs of stellar activity while the Vipers performed a planetary survey meant to compare this world to a massive catalog of planetary profiles stored in their respective ships' databases. This would tell them what resources the planet had to offer, what manner of life-forms called it 'home' and where the best locations for settlement were.

Beyond his canopy he could see the Raider bank slightly to the left and pull up.

"Commencing long-range scan," the same lower-pitched Centurion voice said through his left earpiece.

"Acknowledged," Starbuck replied. "Beginning planetary survey."

He recalled a briefing all pilots attended after the first integrated patrol where Sheba had commented that rather than being a momentous occasion her first experience flying with the Cylons had been mundane. Surprisingly, he was starting to feel the exact same way. For all intents and purposes the pilots of the Raider were, as long as he was scanning the planet, his wingmates. Technically, they were _all_ in enemy territory, if he really thought about it.

Drawing on a mental focusing technique taught in the Colonial Academy, something he'd never actually had to do before, he directed all of his mental energy into focusing on his instruments. Piloting had always come naturally to him; he'd never needed to gimmick his mind into, "becoming one with your Viper," as it had been billed. But now he could literally feel himself becoming one with the machine under his control, as if he were a living part of the craft itself and the Viper an extension of his own body.

_Is this how Cylons experience… existence? They don't 'live' per se…_

He shook the thought off, not letting himself dwell on how easy even one opposed to the détente as he was could let curiosity get the better of him.

His first pass over the planet's night side revealed no more than what the _Galactica's _long-range sensors already told them – it was a barren world. Rather than a planet of continents separated by huge water bodies, it was more like a huge land mass with only a scattering of small lakes and a handful of rivers; surrounding those few bodies of water were the only large clusters of vegetation. Much more plentiful were regions full of canyons and valleys emptying out into hundreds of dry lake beds which suggested that at one time the planet wasn't so desolate. A bright spot – one that could be found on all such worlds – was the presence of large deposits of tylium ore, silica and other minerals that always seemed to be in short supply in the fleet.

"There's not much to be gained as far as food on this rock, but it could provide enough raw materials to keep us going in space for a generation," he reported mostly to Boomer.

"These moons are equally valuable, Bucko; huge, floating stores of tylium waiting for the ore ship to come along and collect. No signs of life or activity on numbers one or three, but I'm picking up massive fields of wreckage on number two. It looks like a parking lot for ships. Lords, there have to be more derelicts here than the boneyards of Tauron! Elysian, what do you have?"

"Radio frequency interference is making detailed scans of the region difficult," the higher-pitched Centurion replied.

"Electro-magnetic interference is being generated by a network of satellites in orbit of the bodies of the planetary system," the Centurion Starbuck assumed was 'Cyrus' offered. "Interference is in the Epsilon band."

"Where cloaking devices operate," Boomer murmured.

"By your… affirmative, Red Leader."

Starbuck heard the unmistakable sound of a chuckle from his squad leader; obviously he found it amusing that the Centurion was trying to widen its vocabulary.

A screen to the left of Starbuck's targeting computer displayed the telemetry being relayed by the Raider. Of course he'd seen Raider scanner data before, but only when he'd actually been flying a Raider. To see the exact same information, a constant stream of ever-changing numbers and machine code – translated into Standard of course – superimposed over a digital representation of the system on a Viper display was disconcerting, but not so much as knowing that their trump card – the ability to detect sensor distortions in the Epsilon band – was gone. He tensed, suddenly feeling _very _vulnerable.

"Request permission for attack run on jamming satellites, Patrol Leader," the voice in his left ear said.

A brief pause suggested that Patrol Leader Elysian was considering the consequences. While it was probably the best thing to do, it would no doubt provoke the ire of the pirate forces who – given the active jamming they were experiencing – were almost certainly present somewhere in the system.

"Any objections, Red Leader?" Elysian asked.

"None whatsoever," Boomer replied decisively.

"Permission granted, Patrol Two."

A micron later Starbuck saw the Raider engage its turbos and pull out ahead. Not long after the sky above and immediately beyond him came alive with the familiar blue glow of Cylon laser fire and the explosion of a half-dozen satellites. On his display a portion of the area became free of distortion.

* * *

"Cursed Azul!" Grelex snapped, slamming his fists down on the arms of his command throne. "I'm telling you I'll have that Selli slime-fish's eyes on my dinner plate if he doesn't break their encryption _soon!"_

"There's no one better in communications from hear to Ziklag. You're not laying a hand on him," Krasak replied from directly to the Ziklagi's left. "Besides, you should have been prepared to deal with encrypted transmissions between military vessels."

Grelex's only response was a growl of annoyance which Krasak knew to be a grudging acceptance of truth. This same scenario had played out many times before them as they'd sat like co-regents with their matching, elevated thrones looking down on the handful of aliens who, only through painstaking displays of loyalty, had the privilege of handling their most sensitive equipment.

"I'll be using a blaster, not my hands! Xegex's Left Foot, we're about to lose our entire satellite network, and that wasn't part of the plan! Give me a tactical display, now!" Grelex ordered.

To his left a blue-skinned, web-fingered alien of a species known as the Elup did as instructed. A large holographic viewer directly in front of the dual command thrones came to life showing an overlay of the system. Every object – including the four triangular icons denoting the two distinct classes of enemy attack ships – was clearly marked.

Unfortunately it was the wrong class of ship that was heading straight for their trap.

* * *

"What about the surface, Bucko, any signs of life?"

"Nothing so far, but I've only covered half the planet – the one experiencing planetary night. I'll be crossing the terminator… now. Whoa. _Whoa!_"

"'Whoa,' what?"

"If I'm reading this Cylon telemetry right I've got additional jamming in all conventional bands directed at an area just beyond the terminator."

"You are reading the data correctly, Red Two," a Centurion voice in his left ear stated.

_Lords grant me patience._ "From the rotation I would say they've just experienced planetary dawn."

"Being directed from _where_?" Boomer asked.

"Hold on… It looks like there's another satellite in low, geosynchronous orbit blasting Epsilon-band anti-wavelons toward the surface over an area no more than… four square kilo-maxims.

"Our hidden pirate base, no doubt."

"Well it's not gonna be hidden much longer," Starbuck said as he switched on his targeting computer. "Stand by, I'm taking this thing-"

* * *

"Master," the Elup at the console on Grelex's left summoned, "Azul has the enemy's transmissions in the clear!"

"It's about time! Let's hear them, now!"

_"…another satellite in low, geosynchronous orbit blasting Epsilon-band anti-wavelons toward the surface…"_

Grelex scowled. "Curse them!"

"I told you their technology was to be reckoned with," Krasak offered. "Range to satellite?"

"Enemy vessel will be in firing range in seconds, Master," an Elup at a console on the opposite side of the command platform replied.

The holographic display in front of them zoomed in on a highlighted spatial grid showing the location of the satellite in question. The plan had been for one of the Cylon craft to approach it – but not destroy it.

_"Our hidden pirate base, no doubt."_

_ "Well its not gonna be hidden much longer…Stand by, I'm taking this thing out!"_

"Oh, but you're in for a surprise, human!"

No sooner had the Ziklagi made the statement then the icon representing the satellite flashed once and disappeared from the screen – but not before the doomed device emitted an electromagnetic lazing pulse. In an instant the digital signature of the human fighter was amplified by a factor of ten, making it an easy target for even the most archaic weapon capable of laser-guidance.

And their weapons were hardly archaic.

Grelex laughed.

Krasak sighed. "Unfortunately our goal was to target the robots, not the humans!"

Grelex waved his hand dismissively. "Aren't you always saying your Malaabian pets are the best pilots in the sector, Krasak? Let them handle the robots _without _laser guidance!" Aside, to an alien of a different species – one with large eyes protruding from either side of its narrow, ovular head – he ordered, "Bring ground-to-air batteries online!"

The alien bowed and went about his task.

* * *

Presumably, the next word out of Starbuck's mouth would have been, "out," but all Boomer heard was a loud burst of static in his left ear, though he could swear he heard the acquisition tone of his wingman's targeting computer first. At the same time both his scanner and the monitor that displayed the data from Elysian's scanner flashed brightly and then went dark.

"What the frack? Starbuck, are you-" He swallowed down the lump in his throat. _Answer, Bucko…_

"Felgercarb!"

_Good enough._ Boomer let out a breath of relief. "What was that?"

"That satellite hit me with an EM-lazing pulse! _Frack!_"

"My scanner is blind, as is my link with you, Elysian."

"Our scanners are likewise inoperative; initiating reboot cycle," the Centurion reported.

"How did that pulse blind _all_ of our scanners?" Boomer demanded.

"Electromagnetic feedback through our telemetry links," Elysian replied.

"Starbuck, did you destroy the satellite?"

"I did, but my scanner is… standby, Boomer, I've got… oh no… no!"

"Starbuck, report!"

"Is your scanner back online?"

When Boomer's display returned to normal it was dominated by a bright icon denoting Starbuck's Viper. Through his helmet's left channel he could hear a tracking tone.

_Oh Lords_.

"I'm lit up like a Yule Tree, Boomer! Any ship within a parsec has me on their scanner!"

"Red Two is generating Epsilon-band sensor feedback." This came from Patrol Two.

"Well, if you want to get technical about it," Starbuck said tersely.

Sure enough, a quick check of Boomer's scanner revealed a massive amount of new interference – and it wasn't coming from what was left of the satellite network.

"Kill your data links," Starbuck said abruptly. "Now!"

"Starbuck-"

"Boomer, _kill _your link! The rest of you, too! As long as you stay linked with me, you're blind, and we all know it. Kill the gallmonging links!"

"Without your link to the Cylons you won't see a cloaked ship coming!" Boomer reminded him. That could be suicide in this territory.

"And if they can't see a cloaked ship because interference from my scanner is jamming theirs, we lose any advantage!" He sucked in an audible breath. "Do it, buddy."

_If one of us is blind we're _all _blind._ Boomer hated it when he couldn't defeat his fair-haired wingman's logic. He hated it even more putting a friend at risk, even if logic dictated what emotions wanted to overrule.

"Cutting the link."

No more than a micron passed and Boomer's display returned to normal. A micron later and Elysian's link too was free of distortion. The other Raider had broken off its attack on the remaining satellites in its attack vector and was closing the distance between itself and Starbuck. Its crew had done a fair job of eliminating the interference-generating satellites, but several still remained. Additionally, both he and Elysian were closing in on a cluster of them along their own flight path.

"We should rendezvous with the others, Elysian; we don't want to risk getting hit with one of those pulses."

"Agreed, Red Leader; adjusting course."

"I'm mak… run for… surface, Boom… I wan… see what… trying… hide," Starbuck said through bursts of audio interference.

"Say again, Starbuck, I'm getting a massive amount of interference."

"I'm… run for the surf…"

_Dammit, no!_

"Starbuck, you're lazed. It stands to reason they'll be coming now, and right for _you_!" But then his friend would know that.

"Say… gain… can't read… repeat…"

"Interference is due to remote monitoring of our transmissions, Red Leader," Elysian said.

And Starbuck would know that too.

"Frack!"


	6. Chapter 5

5

* * *

It wasn't the first time Cedric Allen had seen _Galactica's _bridge. He'd gotten the grand tour not long before the Fleet departed from the old "Rusty Bolt" space station and been more impressed than he could ever remember being. But that was then and this was now; he was here in an official capacity, 'part of the team,' as it were. He still wasn't exactly sure about the nature of 'the team' or exactly what part he would ultimately end up playing, but he trusted his old friend 'Kev,' who was standing beside him – in the garb of a Colonial Captain. Ced had to admit, the man looked the part – though he hated being out-shined. The modest 'uniform' – in truth it was only one in the loosest sense of the word – he'd chosen for his new command, a luxury yacht received in exchange for his bar on RB-33 that was now home to two or three score Colonials along with an assortment of friends of various races that had chosen to make the journey with him, screamed "Han Solo."

"Even Harrison Ford in all his glory wasn't arrayed as one of these," Byrne mocked.

"I'm glad you agree," Allen replied in English after noticing that no one was tied into a Languatron. "From all the long faces, I'm guessing all wasn't well in Parliament."

"I think that has more to do with the possibility of a bunch of cloaked pirates swarming the Fleet than anything that went on in _Council-_" The former NASA astronaut made a point of emphasizing the word, "-we're still a long ways off from the land of Congresses and Parliaments."

"Too far, mate, too far. We must have a few roos loose in the top paddock to miss the familiarity of Earth politics!"

"Oh come on – what's the biggest thing that could have happened down under, New Zealand joining the Commonwealth?"

Allen made a rude noise before adding, "Compared to what, the latest sensation in the world of _un-reality _TV?Whether or not they ever canceled _American Idol?_" The comment stirred both men to laughter and generated more than one odd look from the _Galactica _personnel round about.

"'Laugh it up fuzz-ball,'" Byrne mocked. "I don't recall hearing about Australian politics too often on FOX, CNN or the other twenty-four hour news channels! I, at least, get to see if Obama won a second term."

"That's because they were owned by American corporations, Kev. As for Obama, what's so special about him? It's not like he was the _first _'black' President."

Byrne scowled. "Why are you Aussies so in love with Bill Clinton?"

In a horrible impression of a West Coast 'surfer dude' - Sean Penn as Jeff Spicoli came to mind - Allen replied, "He's only like the most interesting character in American politics in our lifetime, _duh!"_

The former _Saint Brendan _Commander's palm met his face in disgust.

"Oh would you lighten up? Okay, so Obama won the hearts and minds of a generation and declared himself President for life."

"Ced..."

"No good? Okay, re-elected by a narrow margin for four more years of the same then replaced by a Tory for eight years of… the same?"

"Republicans, buddy, they're called _Republicans_."

"A Tory by any other name, as the saying goes."

Both men laughed, again. Neither would know it, but at the time they were both thinking the same thing; the tension on the bridge wasn't so great that it was overwhelming, but it was more than just present. From the XO's pacing to the looks on the faces of various personnel transferring reports to and fro – it was all so very familiar. Military was military, and humans were humans. The crew of the mighty warship was in a heightened state of anticipation and the payoff was proving elusive.

"These people are gonna go mad as a meat axe if something doesn't happen soon."

"And I'll be joining 'em, Ced."

"Oh I'll be right there with ya, mate; it wasn't a criticism, just a statement of fact." He grinned. "Come to think of it, aren't you _already _a few pence short of a pound? And by the way, it's _petrol_, not 'gas.' Who ever heard of calling a liquid 'gas?'"

"Eat my…"

"_Commander on the bridge!"_

It was then that Adama appeared through the guarded portal to the ship's command center, two Warriors on either side snapping to attention at his presence. He walked along the walkway leading up to the command platform – right where Byrne and Allen were standing – with a purpose.

Allen, being Allen, couldn't help but add a final wisecrack; "More like, 'enter the Big Kahuna.'"

Byrne fought to contain his laughter imagining Adama attired thus.

"Gentlemen," he greeted.

Involuntarily, both Earth natives followed the lead of the Colonial guards and straightened their posture.

"Commander," they replied in unison.

"I apologize for the delay."

"It was hardly unexpected, sir, given the situation. We're ready to proceed at any time."

"Thank you both; I need to speak with Colonel Tigh and make a statement to the Fleet before we begin."

Before either man could respond the aforementioned XO appeared at the bottom of the platform.

"Report, Colonel."

"No definitive contacts, but our patrols have seen indications that we're being shadowed by cloaked vessels beyond our effective scanner range."

"That was to be expected. These shadows… they've made no attempt to engage our patrols?"

"None, sir."

"Something strikes me as odd about that, Tigh. The tactical advantage of the cloak may be negated by the nebula's emissions, but our inability to move forward more than cancels that out as we're deep within their territory."

"They may know we can detect them and are toying with us. What better psychological weapon could they have than the knowledge that they're out there but with no idea of their exact position?"

"Or intentions," Adama added.

"Then we need a countermeasure for that weapon," Byrne offered.

"You have a suggestion, Captain?" This came from Tigh.

"Take the fight to them. Send a patrol after one of those radiat… sorry, _radion_ spikes and force the shadows to take action. It may only scare them off, but it could give us an idea as to how many we're dealing with and where they are."

"And-" Interjected Allen, "-closer scans might tell us more about their hardware that we can't get sitting back here, Commander."

Tigh looked to Adama. "It's bold."

"Yes, it is; _too_ bold, perhaps. It might, however, be our only option. Gentlemen-" He indicated Byrne _and _Allen, "—join us above."

The four men ascended the command pedestal, Adama first, followed by Tigh, Bryne then Allen.

"Omega, have Captain Apollo report to the bridge."

"Yes, sir."

"Tigh, raise the Base Ship; this will have to be carefully coordinated with Command Centurion Moray and… Baltar. In fact, we should use… the device."

A smile crossed the dark-skinned officer's face. "Understood," he replied.

"Gentlemen-" Adama turned to the astronauts, "-I regret that your first meeting with… the Commander of our allies' vessel has to be under these circumstances. You've no doubt heard enough about both the Cylons _and _Commander Baltar to form your own opinions. I would ask that you both keep an open mind and show him the same respect you would show a…" it was clear to everyone in earshot that Adama was struggling with the word, "'superior' officer in your various chains of command."

"Our own chains of command may not be especially good examples, Commander," Allen offered. "It's been both Captain Byrne's experience and my own that there are no 'superior' officers, merely higher-ranking ones."

Adama, a look of amusement on his face, turned to Tigh to see his own expression reflected back.

"Sounds like something out of classical ontology," Tigh joked, "Parmenides, perhaps."

"Or something that _should _have been, in any case," Adama replied. "Though given our experience, I would say that even the finest Colonial philosophers were never _that_ eloquent."

* * *

"Say again, Boomer, I didn't copy. Repeat your last transmission!"

The only answer forthcoming was a burst of static in Starbuck's right ear.

"Our communications are being monitored – and jammed – from the surface," a Centurion voice in his left ear said.

A check of his scanner showed a domed array atop a hill just north of a cluster of structures within the area previously masked by distortion from the satellite he'd just destroyed. Sure enough, it was operating within their voice communication band, blocking all but short-range signals.

_Sagan's sakes_; it was the last place Starbuck wanted to find himself – cut off from Boomer with only his Cylon 'wingmen' to watch his back. _Could this get any worse?_

A proximity alarm tone sounded, causing the veteran pilot to mentally kick himself. On the flats beyond the hills his scanner detected the activation of a surface-to-air pulsar battery. Its power output was easily that of a Battlestar laser turret – enough to reduce him to cosmic debris.

And within microns he'd be in its range.

* * *

"I wanted to invite yourself and Command Centurion Moray to share in a real-time strategy session involving our guests from Earth – one of whom has a degree of familiarity with the region - _and _to make a request."

The former traitor looked genuinely surprised. Not haughty or conniving; simply surprised. "I appreciate the chance to meet the Earthmen 'face-to-face' as it were; I assume you'll want to use the holo-imaging device?"

"Indeed," Adama replied.

The thought of an image of Baltar before them on the bridge – even if it was nothing more than a trick of light and technology – was somewhat unnerving but, Adama thought, it made for better relations with the renegade Cylon crew as well as its Commander. They could confer 'face-to-face' without actually being in the same room.

"I have to confess I've been eager to see it in operation," Baltar said. "And your request?"

"We require… aid – from your crew."

Baltar raised an eyebrow. "I… don't follow."

"The improvements to the Civilian vessels of the Fleet proposed at our earlier joint-session require more manpower than we can bring to bear at the present time, if we're to achieve the goal in anything resembling a reasonable timeframe. Aid from your crew would be… greatly appreciated, were they agreeable to providing it. Of course such a request would have to be made, I assume, to Command Centurion Moray – with your permission."

"I… believe that would be the best way to go about it. Of course I have no objection, though…"

"A resolution has passed the Council-" Adama said, anticipating his old foe's – and friend, ironically enough – objection, "-by a near unanimous vote."

"_Near_?"

For a moment, Adama saw a glimpse of the old, calculating Baltar. "Yes. Siress Lydia chose to abstain."

A smirk crossed the Pisceran's face. It was immediately apparent to Adama that his former adversary had been keeping abreast of bureaucratic matters in the Fleet – likely by monitoring the _IFB_.

_Or through other channels_. The Commander shuddered at the thought.

"I've yet to make a formal announcement as I've just come from session. I wanted to speak with you and Command Centurion Moray before I made a formal announcement to the Fleet at large."

A soft look of understanding washed across the turncoat's face. "You wanted a direct vote of the people; the Council overruled you."

What struck Adama most about the statement was how free of ridicule it was. It wasn't condemnatory or smug. In fact Baltar almost seemed… disappointed? The Warrior Statesman had suffered many a bureaucratic defeat only to have Baltar gloat haughtily; he couldn't recall an instance where the man had shown sympathy.

"Your time away from the Council hasn't dulled your bureautician's senses, I see. In fact, in a lighthearted moment it was suggested that you may be called upon to take your old seat."

The former traitor smiled. "I somewhat doubt that the people of Piscera have a positive view of me, though I suspect one or two might write-in my name on their ballots." He motioned to someone out of view on the monitor. A moment later the taller, imposing form of the golden-armored Command Centurion Moray came into view. "Commander Adama has a request he'd like to make of you, Moray."

"What is your request, Commander Adama?"

The _Galactica's _Commander took a deep breath.

* * *

"Why are you charging the pulsar?" Krasak demanded.

"Relax, Krasak. I just want to soften the human up," Grelex shot back.

Krasak groaned. "If you miss and hit the robot vessel…"

"_No one_," he countered sharply, turning to the gunner's station, "is hitting anyone. Isn't that right?"

"Yes, Master," the frightened being manning the controls replied.

"You see?"

"I see an accident waiting to happen, Grelex, but we'll play it your way."

The Ziklag slaver laughed. "Give them something else to worry about," he ordered the gunner.

The timid creature bowed its head.

* * *

Starbuck pulled up, instinctively, the instant he heard the tone that signaled he'd been interrogated by electronic targeting.

"They're firing; pull up!"

With no response, the Raider shot sharply upward and veered back – nearly into Starbuck's path – only to bank left just as he was banking right, bringing the two fighters within milimetrons of each other. It was something he'd expect from a fellow Viper pilot, but never in a thousand yahrens from a Cylon. The two ships ascended at opposing angles as laser torpedo blasts exploded just below them; no, not _just _below them, _well_ below their z-axis position prior to the evasive maneuver.

"Wait just a fracking centon… Patrol Two were you acquired?"

"Affirmative," the Centurion – pilot? – replied.

_Whoever these people are, they're toying with us, _Starbuck thought. He rolled to avoid a series of blasts, realizing only after he'd completed the maneuver that it hadn't been necessary. "They're not trying to hit us."

"Agreed; two contacts have appeared on our scanner, closing quickly from the surface."

A disturbing picture was coming together in Starbuck's mind. "We have to get out of here, _now_."

* * *

"_We have to get out of here, _now_."_

"I think not," Grelex said, smiling sadistically.

Behind him, out of view, one of the Zykonian guards blocking access to the other half of the command center overheard the Ziklagi's proclamation and stealthily tapped at a pocket in his uniform jacket containing a communications device.

Engaged as every occupant of the room was, none was the wiser.

* * *

"We will grant your request."

Adama didn't know what surprised him more; the Command Centurion's positive response or the fact that he agreed so quickly.

As if he was aware of the Commander's confusion, Moray added, "It was anticipated."

"Excuse me?"

"The magnitude of the task is such that asking for our assistance was only logical. The crew indicated that they would be willing... eager, even, to provide support should it be requested."

Behind Moray, Adama could see Baltar's expression of surprise mirror his own.

"No doubt, Commander Moray; my apologies – I should be accustomed to such unexpected developments. Colonel Tigh will co-ordinate with you once I've made a formal announcement to the Fleet – if you have no objections, Baltar?"

"Of course not, Adama," Baltar replied graciously.

_Will I ever get used to that?_

"Then it is agreed," Moray offered.

_If only this could have happened at Cimtar._

"Thank you, Moray. Please give my regard to your fellow Centurions for their forward-thinking on this matter."

The Command Centurion nodded. "That sentiment shall be appreciated."

Adama returned the gesture and closed the connection. He and Tigh shared another look of bemusement.

* * *

Aside, Allen leaned in close to his fellow Earthman, once again speaking English; "Was that the hard part?"

Byrne hesitated a moment. "I'm not sure, old friend; I'm just not sure."

"Whoever came up with that wisecrack about 'superior' officers obviously never met Commander Adama."

* * *

A sequence of tones sounded in Azul's headset.

The Selli smiled and tapped the "EXECUTE" button on his touch-screen.

Only after did he notice, out of the corner of his eye, the young Malaabian standing behind him.

"You're just in time, boy. Tell your pet to join us."

"Don't call me 'boy,' Azul! Viyanna is not my… how did you-"

Azul released a loud, bellowing laugh. "I _am _the eyes and ears of this operation, you know. Did you _really _think you were getting away with something? You might be good with your hands, Maavin, but you're neither clever nor especially evasive."

The young Malaabian, despite his look of guilt, wasn't cowering in fear. "So you know what we're planning."

Azul laughed. "What did I just say? Espionage isn't your forte. The only reason Krasak and Grelex haven't caught on is because I've been covering your tracks, and because there are a handful of us who, for reasons we still aren't quite sure of, have decided to throw in with your lot."

"Why?"

"Do I need to draw you a picture, you warm-blooded fool? The Syndicate has been good to me, but their time is at its end. I have no faith in this foolish plan of Grelex's. Even Krasak has his doubts, and that doesn't bode well for any of us."

"That's an excuse. You're one of Krasak's most loyal operatives. Why are you _really _doing this?"

The fishlike creature sighed, heavily. He hated revealing so much of himself to anyone, let alone the pink-skinned slave boy.

"I have my reasons! Why do you care?"

"I want to know if you're lying," Maavin replied, evenly.

Azul laughed, again. "You're not an Esper. You wouldn't know."

The young man smiled. "Viyanna would."

Azul returned the smile. "Come out, wench!"

"Don't call her that!"

"What are you going to do about it?"

Maavin moved to charge the seated Selli, but was stopped by his lover who, appearing from behind, reached out and grabbed his arm.

"This is not the time," the exotic woman practically purred.

Maavin, though keeping his wits more than the typical male – of any species – still deferred, captivated as he was in her presence.

Even Azul, whose particular physiology was much less susceptible to the influence of the pheromones of the Malaabian slave class, practically smelled the change in the air.

_How had their race _not _conquered the galaxy?_

"We don't have those designs, Azul. You know that."

"Stop reading my mind!"

"He wants to go home, my love," she said aside to Maavin.

"You need to read my mind to figure that out? Yes, I want to go home! Is that a good enough reason? I want to swim in the oceans of Selli Prime and bask on its shoals! I want to live among my own kind again! Oh, and I'm as tired of being Grelex's lackey as you are his slave!"

"I'm no one's slave, Azul," Viyanna shot back.

"You keep telling yourself that, youngling."

"I am _not _a young… _child!_"

"You are – both of you – children and slaves. _But, _it would seem, not for much longer."

"What are you up to, Azul," Maavin injected, steering the conversation back to matters at hand.

"I'm buying us an insurance policy, in case your plan to bring these Colonials into our affairs doesn't work out."

"_Azul!_" Grelex's voice roared through the comm-system causing both Malaabians to shudder, involuntarily.

"Enemy fighters have engaged electronic countermeasures, Lord," he winked at the two Malaabians. "Compensating."

Both of them stared at him, mouths agape.

"_Compensate _quickly!"

* * *

"Ohgul's dung, why do I not have enemy communications!" Grelex screamed. "Azul!"

From the intercom, the Selli replied, "_Enemy fighters have engaged electronic countermeasures, Lord. Compensating!_"

"By the Pit, compensate _quickly_! Where are our interceptors?"

"Closing on the intruders, Master," an Elup replied.

Grelex turned sharply towards his Zykonian associate. "Too slow. _Too slow!_"

Evenly, Krasak replied, "We discussed patience, a moment ago, did we not?"

"We did, and mine is wearing thin!"

* * *

Microns crawled slowly along into centons as Boomer and Flight Leader Elysian's fighters moved to intercept Starbuck and Patrol Two. The blinking of a particular readout on his transceiver told him that he was being interrogated by electronic tracking, and use of turbos would only aid the enemy in acquiring him with their targeting systems. Their foes had enough fire power on the surface to severely damage, or even destroy a vessel as large as the _Century_. More worrisome was the fact that their electronic countermeasures were barely capable of defeating the jamming of either Colonial or Cylon scanners – to say nothing of their communications systems.

"Red Leader, electromagnetic jamming has ceased," Elysian reported.

_Thank the Lords_. "Starbuck? Patrol Two?"

"Boomer?"

With the lack of jamming, both Starbuck and Patrol Two appeared once again on Boomer's scanner – their turbos engaged.

Also, visible due to sensor readings only as they were still too far away, was the fact that they were being fired upon.

"What did you do?" Boomer asked with an accusatory tone.

"What did I... _nothing_! We have to-"

"If I may," Patrol Two interjected, "the two contacts from below are on a confirmed intercept course for our position."

"Starbuck…"

"For Sagan's sake, Boomer, they just started firing the micron I detected their mini-pulsar!"

"Why do you think _I'm_ not using my turbos?"

"I'm sure I don't need to point out that _you're _not actually in range of their weapons! It was turbos or the Ship of Lights, boom-boom!"

"We are receiving an encrypted transmission from the surface," Elysian said.

"You mean someone's trying to make contact?" Boomer asked.

"No. They are transmitting packets of data."

"Whoa, Boomer… Take a look at… This is a battle plan!"

On his main display, Boomer saw a tactical display showing the location of the Fleet. Surrounding it were icons denoting half a dozen cloaked enemy vessels, larger than Vipers but small enough to have maneuvering capabilities beyond the smallest of the Colonial vessels. Just beyond the Fleet's position on the edge of the nebula were two dozen more contacts of the same type – and one larger vessel, roughly a third the size of _Galactica_.

"They're gonna swarm her!" Starbuck said. "We've got to get back!"

"We're nearly a centar from communications range, Bucko. If this is accurate they're in position _right now_."

_This doesn't make sense, _Boomer thought. _ Why in all the Colonies would they just hand us their battle plan?_

"The transmission was directed out of the planetary system on a vector away from the position of the Fleet," said the voice of Patrol Two.

"_Away_ from the Fleet?" Boomer asked.

"Affirmative."

Before either he or Starbuck could ask, the voice added, "The vector of the data stream indicates the transmission was aimed at territory under the control of the Zykonian Empire – according to your star charts."

The implications… what _were _the implications? Several different scenarios ran through Boomer's mind, but so many things were happening so quickly.

"At least _somebody's _capable of getting a signal out from this range," Starbuck quipped. "Oh no."

"'Oh no.' What is 'oh no?' We don't need another problem right now, Bucko!"

A burst of static was the only reply.

"Electronic jamming has resumed," said Elysian.

And they were still Centons away from rendezvous. _And, _on their scanners, two speedy vessels – of the same configuration as those poised to strike the Fleet – were closing.

* * *

On any given day no fewer than a hundred ships passed through the gates and airlocks of Brylon V's orbital repair facility, on their way to any of a thousand destinations. As such, its commanding officer never lacked for duties to attend to. On this particular day, the station's load was more than typical. Only luck and the graces of Zykor found him at his desk – only long enough to confirm a request for maintenance that had supposedly been pre-approved but was not listed on the accompanying repair order.

_Bureaucracy!_

A tone sounded from his communications interface.

"What is it, Lieutenant Xandt?"

"Sir, we're receiving an encrypted communication – for your eyes only."

_As if I have nothing else to occupy my time. _"Well, send it through!"

"Aye sir, however you might be interested to hear that this is a very unusual encryption scheme – one beyond our programming abilities. Also, I have no idea where it originated."

"You mean, it's not a real-time message?"

"No sir; it's a block of data. All traditional indicators of the sender and their location are either missing or encrypted along with the rest of the data."

"Check the comm-logs and triangulate the signal. At least find out what direction it came from. And, if it's encrypted, how am I to open it?"

"If I'm reading it right, it's twenty-six character sequence – likely alphanumeric."

"But if I don't… wait, did you say a twenty-six character sequence?"

"Yes, sir."

Xlax froze.

"Captain?"

"Xandt, send that information to my personal display, and _quickly _triangulate the direction from which it was sent!"

"Sir!"

Mere seconds later, the beeping of his terminal indicated that the data was available.

"Zykor's lips!" Xlax swore, almost entirely certain he knew who sent the message and where it'd come from. He tapped his comm interface. "Xandt!"

"Sir. The signal originated from a source-"

"In the Frontier, the Tryntac System to be precise," Xlax interrupted. "Connect me with Governor Bougariul and the High Command, _immediately!_" He didn't bother to wait for his Comm Officer's response, cutting the connection. Knowing it would take him several moments, at least, to comply with the order, he typed in the pass-phrase he knew would grant him access to the message:

BEWARE THE JAWS THAT BITE.


	7. Chapter 6

6

* * *

_Can you hear me, brother? _A 'voice' called out. _Answer me!_

Not a voice, of course; more an echo in Raahn's mind. Beyond all the technology that created an unholy union between man and machine, the two brothers, long captives of the vile Zykonian slaver Krasak, still found a way to speak privately in their minds, escaping even their slavers' vigilance. Theirs was the gift of telepathy, once the birthright of all Malaabians in the distant past, but something lost to the ages among all but a select few. The censure shields they were forced to wear at all times, except when joined to the hardware that allowed them to remotely control their ships, prevented any form of telepathic communication. Despite the dulling of their senses caused by the censure shields, each was able to reach out a tendril of thought to the other.

_I'm with you, Saavin, always._

_My spirit grows weak, brother._

_Our liberation is at hand; hold fast!_

_I don't know if I can._

_You can. You must!_

Krasak had broken Saavin's will a long time ago, and the continued use of the censure shields – in conjunction with the disorder only one in every one hundred million Malaabians suffered from – had all but destroyed his psionic abilities. Raahn had warned the Zykonian countless times about his brother's condition, begging for him to substitute one of the other captives who didn't suffer from the disease in his place, but the continued successful use of the process – despite the fact that each success came at the cost of ever more pronounced neuro-degenerative effects – caused his pleas to fall on deaf ears. For all the damage it caused him, Saavin was the most advanced student of the secret psionic study their Government sponsored as a means of finally breaking the Syndicate's stranglehold on their home system.

Oh, how they'd failed!

But that was all in the past. Malaabia, once an independent world where science and technology had cured many a social as well as physical ill, had fallen into the depravity of the cultures with which it had allied against the threat of both Ziklag and Zimira Prime. Better would it have been for them to have stood alone, and be conquered. At least, they could have fallen with honor.

And the might of their foe hadn't even been directed at Malaabia!

With the fall of the Bosaq Empire and the rise of the Syndicate the Ziklagio and Zykonians forgot about "the frontier" as they called it, and Malaabia had once again become an independent power controlling its own solar system, but nothing else. The fear of becoming a Syndicate world was greater that the fear of becoming a Zykonian client or a Ziklagi slave pit.

Knowing the inner workings of the Syndicate the way he did, Raahn found this laughable. For all the posturing that struck fear in the hearts of every world from Bosaq to Oralia, the "power" of Krasak and Grelex was largely an illusion – a trick of technology of which Raahn and Saavin were an intimate part. Of course, defeating said technology was easier said than done; it had taken Raahn years for his 'spark' as the mind's voice was known among their kind, to be able to touch that of his fellow Malaabian captives without the Syndicate's co-regents discovering it.

But these 'newcomers' the Iylamins – as Humans were called in Malaabia's native tongue – offered them an avenue of escape.

The wonderfully contradictory beings that had visited their world so many ages ago – on a similar journey, no less! – helped their ancestors come together in a divisive time; strange, as their lost tribe were divided amongst themselves to the point of nearly coming to blows with each other.

From what he'd learned both through channels regular and otherwise, the Iylamin Fleet that passed through Zykonian space was not only a unified one – to so great a degree that its influence had helped broker peace between the region's warring nations – but its people _saw _themselves as united. To say nothing of the fact that it had seemingly made peace with the cybernetic enemy that had made another flight from the far-off regions they'd once called 'Home' necessary.

Thoughts of the Iylamin refugees, their plight and their race's largely unknown history with his own were pushed out of his mind as the priority of controlling his ship against a 'hostile' foe – one that by all indications hadn't even thought about running, seeing as how the four ships were moving into an attack formation – became paramount in his mind.

* * *

The microns couldn't move quick enough as the speedy enemy vessels closed in on their position with a manner of precision flying that was as impressive as it was seemingly erratic. With skill that suggested they'd executed a similar maneuver many times prior, the two ships – more like winged space acrobats out of the old Colonial Circus – repeated a seemingly unending series of aileron rolls; the effect was dizzying, making the two ships appear to swirl around each other, both taking point for less than a micron before rolling back and around. How the pilots managed to maintain such a formation without giving in to motion sickness or stall their engines was beyond either Starbuck or Boomer, both of whom were having a hard time keeping themselves from going cross-eyed as they watched the mesmerizing display.

So enchanting was the effect that Starbuck didn't notice as Boomer pulled up beside him and that both Raiders had fallen perfectly into a standard two-deep, four-man Colonial attack pattern. When he finally did notice, he found that he didn't even mind.

"How in the _frack _can they keep rolling like that?"

"I'm sure I have no idea Bucko," Boomer replied, their proximity such that the EM jamming from the surface and what remained of the orbital satellite network was unable to block their communications. "Can you get a targeting lock?"

"Negative. My scanner can barely get a fix."

"Elysian?"

"Our targeting scanners are likewise affected," the Cylon reported, "Accurate targeting not possible."

"Enemy flight pattern and airspeed indicates that they do not plan on veering off of their terminal intercept vector," the voice of Patrol Two added.

"In Standard, if you wouldn't mind," Starbuck quipped sardonically.

"I think he means they plan to ram us," Boomer offered.

"Correct," Patrol Two replied. "Contact in twelve microns."

Starbuck bit back a cutting remark, more concerned with the sense of dread – a kind he couldn't recall even when he'd been facing the Cylons alone over Proteus with no offensive weapons – threatening to overwhelm him as the tiny specks grew larger in his canopy window.

It didn't help that – or was it because of? – Elysian as effective patrol leader would be the one to decide their next, possibly _last, _move.

After only a milli-centons hesitation, the Cylon Patrol Leader said, "Stay on target and prepare to engage turbo engines."

_Sagan, Sagra and Damocles._

With his luck he'd be visiting them soon.

* * *

"And your contact among the Syndicate, Captain Xlax, is he reliable?"

The Zykonian seethed, internally, at being asked such a stupid question by a political leader he wanted to believe knew better. But then virtually all political leaders believed they knew better.

"I've known few of our _own_ number to be so, Governor Bougariul," he replied. He was sure that he noticed more than one member of the High Command – a three-man council he could view via holographic display on his right as though the elevated bench from which they looked down on… everyone was right there in his office – tense at the statement, despite only having a peripheral view of them focused as he was on the holographic image of the Governor behind his desk to his left.

"You expect the Human Fleet to interfere?" This came from Admiral Slar, the most level-headed and tactically able member of Command.

"I believe they have no alternative. The Tryntac System lies along their primary heading and, according to the information my source provided, scouting vessels from the Fleet have already reached it."

"A system that few ships – our own included – have ever returned from," the Governor said.

"Only because we've been preoccupied with matters of greater importance," Admiral Vlack, a much less level-headed officer, and the other subordinate to the Grand Admiral, exclaimed, slamming his fist down on the bench in front of him for effect.

Xlax wanted to roll his eyes; Vlack was known for his grandiose speech and exaggerated gestures.

The blowhard Admiral continued, "The Syndicate has been a thorn in our side for far too long, and if the Humans deal with it, all the better! Why waste _any _resources?"

"I'm asking for a single ship, Admiral, and for a single ship of relatively equal status from our… allies. If the opportunity presents itself we'll apprehend our own rebel and they'll apprehend theirs. The rest of the Syndicate will either wither in the wind or… try to make a deal. The Horks will run like the cowardly slime-devils they are, at the first whiff of conflict. But the _Galactica _is on its way out of this region, and Adama is _not_ likely to realize the long-term effects of the Syndicate's demise, nor will he be interested in picking up the pieces. If the data gathered from the wreckage of the vessel matching the configuration of the ship that was with the Human Fleet at RB-33 and that provided by my contact is any indication, we don't want _any _faction of the Syndicate to walk away from this thinking that following in the footsteps of Krasak and Grelex is a good idea."

"Nor, do I think, we want to attempt what they're attempting ourselves," Bougariul said, his eyes focused not on Xlax but on the members of the High Command – Vlack and the Grand Admiral, specifically.

Xlax recalled not being overly impressed with the cybernetic beings known as "Cylons" when he'd first seen one on the _Galactica_. Knowing that two vessels from their Empire had passed through Zykonian space completely undetected had changed his opinion.

Regardless of what he thought, the High Command was worried. In Vlack's case, he was worried enough to suggest publicly that they follow the example of the Syndicate and, if possible, create their own "Cylons" to counter the threat.

The thought of his species following the example of another reptilian civilization into destruction at the hands of their own machines made Xlax sick, as did the thought that a – supposedly – intelligent military leader would think it was a good idea.

"We would do best to keep our options open on that point," the Grand Admiral said diplomatically; he wasn't about to reveal whether it was Xlax's opinion or Vlack's that he shared, lest the civilian leadership and the military find themselves at odds. Such an internal power struggle was not what the Empire needed in light of the fledgling peace with Ziklag or the possibility of an entirely new threat to the region.

Still, Vlack couldn't help but smile – ever so subtly – at the perceived victory.

Xlax noticed it, as did Slar.

"Warfare is a matter of honor," the Grand Admiral went on, "and the moral hazard of conducting it using soulless machines... The horrors of war should be both a deterrent and a motivator; they would cease to be anything were our people to see battlefields littered with nothing but the debris of a robotic army. Nevertheless, the intelligence provided by the Humans indicates that these cybernetic creatures could very well have numbers in excess of our own. With their production capacity an unknown variable, along with their ability to conduct their operations with such stealth, we should be slow to entirely rule out _any_ course of action."

"May I ask, Admiral, how we would even go about creating our own Cylons? Little was recovered from the wreckage of the vessel destroyed by the _Galactica _in terms of salvageable equipment," the Governor said. "Given the intelligence reports from our agents inside the Frontier, I don't see the Humans offering up any sacrificial Cylons anytime soon."

Vlack scoffed. "An opportunity will present itself, Governor. The wreckage may not have offered us an intact Cylon, but in addition to knowing exactly what elements are present in their construction, we now know how to track emissions from their peculiar propulsion system _and _how to follow their residual energy signatures. Another one of their vessels will not pass through Zykonian territory undetected!"

"In the meantime, gentlemen, I do believe we should consider Captain Xlax's request," Slar offered.

"Given the volatility of the situation, I believe that your suggestion has merit, Captain. I'm going to grant your request and transfer temporary command of the Heavy Cruiser _Zothar _to you," the Grand Admiral said.

Vlack, for his part, seemed on the verge of protesting, but seemed to suddenly think better of it.

"I'll relay your suggestion that the Ziklagi government be informed of and offered the opportunity to be included in this operation, Captain," the Governor added.

"Thank you, Mr. Governor, Grand Admiral."

"Zykor's blessings, and our own, go with you," The Governor said.

The three members of the High Council stood and saluted – though Vlack's heart was not in the effort. Despite that, Xlax returned the salute. Slar gave him an additional acknowledgment before the holographic image faded from existence. The Governor also stood and performed the traditional civilian gesture of solidarity, which he also returned. When he was alone again, he considered that he may have just bitten off more than he could chew.

* * *

"Commander," Omega beckoned, "I have Doctor Wilker on Comm-Line Alpha from the _Hephaestus_. He says it's urgent."

Adama scowled.

"Sir," Tigh spoke up, seeing his superior's dismay at the prospect of what was likely to be a technical conversation with the eccentric scientist, "given the priority assigned to his task on the Foundry Ship, and the fact that you asked him for centarly updates-"

"You're quite right, Colonel," Adama cut him off.

He subtly glanced over his exec's shoulder, noting Siress Lydia's position near the edge of the plotting board. Her presence on the bridge was a distraction and it caused everyone's tension levels to rise. He'd developed the bad habit of keeping watch for her even when she wasn't present and noting where she was standing when she was, lest he find her looking over his shoulder without his knowledge. He hated being so distracted.

At the same time, he also knew that he only had himself to blame for the fact that she now held the powerful position of Vice-President and was able to hang over his shoulder at every opportunity. For all the ethical violations that might have ordinarily merited her expulsion from the Council, she still had him over the proverbial barrel in regard to how he had first handled the situation regarding Baltar's offer to defect. And if any action were ever taken against her, all it would take was one public statement in an _IFB_ interview to see all respect in the Fleet for Adama's leadership come crashing down at the worst possible time.

So here he was, forced to endure her presence on a constant basis in accordance with Council Law. Were it not for the professionalism of the _Galactica's _bridge crew, the haughty air she projected would make the tension generated by her presence unbearable. He pitied Byrne, standing with his back to them, trying desperately to keep their obvious disagreement from becoming too noticeable. He couldn't help but notice Allen, leaning casually against the bulkhead on the opposite side of the board and making no effort to disguise his look of distaste for the Aerian noblewoman; he almost_ didn't_ notice her pilot and personal guard – the honorary Lieutenant Jarvik – standing only a few paces away, likewise monitoring the exchange – albeit with an interest that was both _more_ than professional and decidedly obvious.

"On my monitor, please, Omega," Adama ordered, silently lamenting his sharpness of perception.

"Sir," was the curt reply.

"I was going to add that he's overdue," Tigh quipped, a humorous gleam in his eye.

Adama smiled, grateful for Tigh's uncharacteristic levity. A micron later, the scientist's face appeared before them.

"Doctor, I do believe I asked for reports by the centar." He tapped his wrist chrono – for effect.

"I apologize, Commander," Wilker replied, hastily, "but we've made more progress than I had anticipated – at least until now."

"There's a problem?" _Already?_

"Actually, its better that this came up now as opposed to when the reactors were finished," Wilker replied. "I allowed Copernicus to review the specs for the device – to keep him occupied, you understand; he wanted to be here in person, but I didn't think-"

"Doctor, please, make it brief."

"Oh but do let the Doctor give a proper report, please _Commander_," Siress Lydia said, from behind.

Or _purred_, more as like.

_Sagan. How does she manage to be everywhere at once?_

Adama nodded toward the monitor, bidding Wilker continue, but not before he noticed Byrne walking toward his fellow Earthman, looking as though he'd been chastised – much to Allen's chagrin.

"Ah, yes, sir. It was good I let him look it over. Our initial design failed to take into account the fact that the device's primary purpose is power generation as opposed to propulsion. A certain component requires a degree of re-engineering before it will function correctly as an energizer."

"And, you require Copernicus to be shuttled over?"

"No," the scientist hesitated for a micron, "but I think it would be best if Chief Engineer Twilly took a trip to the BaseShip."

The Commander's eyebrows shot up. "The BaseShip?"

"Yes, sir."

From the looks on both Tigh and Lydia's faces, it was clear they'd both been as surprised by the suggestion as he was.

_Serendipity. _"Alright, Doctor, I believe you have our full attention."

Wilker shook his head. "Per our agreement with Baltar, we've been exchanging technical data with the Cylon crew for some time now. Copernicus thinks that a certain component which acts as a power regulator in the BaseShip's long-range propulsion system at the higher energy levels, can be adapted for use in the new reactors."

"And Twilly agrees?"

"Uh, somewhat; he believes he'd need to look at the technology up-close, while in actual operation, before making a final judgment."

Adama looked to Tigh, whose only response was a shrug.

"You've discussed this with Engineer Artemis?"

"Yes, sir; he had no objection to having Twilly come aboard or sharing the technology, provided he had command approval. Of course, that's your department."

"Stand by, Doctor. I'll confer with Colonel Tigh-" Out of the corner of his eye he noticed Lydia cross her arms over her chest defensively, "-and Siress Lydia, and get back to you shortly."

Wilker nodded before his image disappeared from the screen.

A contemplative look washed across Adama's face.

"I had no idea there was such a large degree of information passing between us and the Cylons," Tigh offered evenly.

"The Council-" Lydia spoke up before Adama could respond, "-gave approval for a limited sharing of non-classified information, provided the exchanges were of similar value. I suppose we shouldn't be surprised."

"Quite right, Madame Vice-President, and in this case we should be glad that _both_ crews were so forward-thinking, lest the completion of our defensive upgrades be unduly delayed," Adama replied, not bothering to inform her that the 'long range propulsion system' Wilker mentioned – officially known as a Gravetic Drive – could hardly be called 'non-classified.'

'State secret' was a more apt term.

Lydia's eyes narrowed, ever so slightly; "A fair assessment, Commander."

Neither he nor Tigh missed the increased level of respect in voice with the mention of his rank. She'd been doing that – speaking condescendingly in one breath and with "all due respect the next" – frequently of late.

_Much_ too frequently.

"Do _you _have any objection to sending Twilly – or anyone else – over there?" Adama asked, looking to Tigh.

"If Twilly is willing, I have no objection. For all the fates, the Cylons seem to be going out of their way to show us that they can be trusted," Tigh replied.

Like Adama, he knew of the secrecy that surrounded the Cylon's tylium-independent propulsion system, something Colonial intelligence had tried – and failed – to acquire for yahrens before the falsely-called 'Armistice,' and had followed his lead in not saying more than needed to be said.  
"So, shall I inform our fellow Councilors that our efforts have hit a snag and that you'll be sending a crewman to the BaseShip to work out a solution with our… allies?"

Several long microns later, he replied, "Please do, Madame Vice-President."

"Could I ask, when you plan to make the announcement regarding our vote of last session?"

"I'll make the announcement when the proper opportunity presents itself, Siress. You understand, of course, that we've quite a bit on our plate at the moment."

Lydia's nostrils flared. "Yes, yes. Can I at least inform our brother and sister members when they'll have clearance to return to their ships?"

"Siress Lydia," Apollo intoned, having entered the bridge a centon earlier and stealthily joined them all on the command platform, "I'm sure you're aware that because of our current Fleet formation it's very difficult to fly too many shuttles at once. I assure you, the Commander will have the rest of the Council back aboard their ships as soon as we're able to loosen the pattern, and return to normal flight configuration."

Displaying uncharacteristic intuitiveness where the physical operation of the Fleet was concerned, Lydia replied, "That didn't seem to be a problem when they were being shuttled here earlier, Captain Apollo."

"If I may,-" Tigh interjected smoothly, showing atypical diplomacy when dealing with a member of the Council other than Adama, "—your arrival coincided with the loosening of our defensive pattern so that our forward patrol could launch. Since then we've detected signs of cloaked vessels operating closer to the perimeter of the Fleet which caused us to tighten the formation."

Again, her eyes narrowed, but she seemed to accept the explanation. "Very well, Colonel." Turning to Adama, she asked, "You will inform me if there are any developments, Mister President?"

"Most assuredly," Adama replied, with a lock of mock graciousness worthy of the late Sire Uri.

Or even Baltar.

He had a sudden urge to boil himself.

The Siress curtsied, arrogantly, and stepped down from the platform, regarding Byrne for only a micron as she strode towards the corridor, Jarvik following closely – _too _closely – behind.

Both Adama and Tigh relaxed their posture noticeably.

"What's this about sending someone to the BaseShip?" Apollo asked.

"It seems there is a design issue that's keeping the project from moving forward. Copernicus believes an element of the BaseShip's Gravetic Drive system holds the answers Wilker needs," his father replied.

"Copernicus? How would he know-"

"Apparently the Cylons have provided Doctor Wilker with technical data on the drive," Adama offered.

A look of disbelief crossed Apollo's face. "And we're just hearing about it now?"

"So it seems."

"How many yahrens have we been trying to steal that engine design? And they just hand it over? To _Wilker_?"

"It's not just Wilker." Tigh stepped closer to his commander and lowered his voice, not so much that Apollo couldn't hear, but enough to keep his comments on the top of the command platform. "Rigel told me she'd been working in tandem with her counterpart to monitor and examine sensor data. And-" He gestured toward the Strike Captain, "-Apollo and Orion have been coordinating with greater frequency – even before we discovered cloaked pirates were shadowing us."

"What Orion and I have been doing is routine," Apollo offered. "It's a far cry from handing us the blueprints to their most impressive achievement!"

_It's happening_, Adama thought. His son hadn't batted an eye when he'd described coordinating the defense of the Fleet with a Cylon as 'routine.' And shortly, the wonder of a long-sought alien technology augmenting their own would allow a completely life-like image of Baltar to stand on the bridge with them to plot a course ahead.

_Serendipity, indeed_.

"Noted, Captain," Tigh said, "Though I'm more interested in knowing what Wilker offered in exchange."

"As am I," Adama replied. "All things in their time; Omega, raise the BaseShip _again_, please."

* * *

For the briefest micron, though he'd never admit it, Starbuck was actually impressed by a Cylon. No sooner had Elysian given the 'order' to standby and then to hit his turbos than a series of beeps drew his attention to a message flashing across the linked telemetry display instructing him to, "Fire on my mark." It was a bold and crafty move born of the sort of quick-thinking the Cylons weren't exactly known for. He just hoped that the people monitoring them from below were too caught up in their voice transmissions to notice a stray packet of text in amongst the shared sensor data.

Another series of beeps drew him back to the shared display, this time showing a tactical scan of the enemy fighter.

"What the…" he whispered, not believing what the Cylon scanners were telling him. Quickly, he ran his own independent scan which gave him the same result: NO LIFE SIGNS DETECTED.

A proximity alarm went off, signaling that the fighters had just crossed into weapons range; the targeting computer, though still incapable of getting a precise lock, reported that their speed was holding steady.

He braced himself, knowing that even if they successfully vaporized the approaching ships all four of them would be flying right through the shock-wave generated by the explosion – as well as debris.

All these thoughts were pushed to the side as the Cylon Patrol Leader gave a single order; "Engage."


End file.
